UC-NRLF 


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A    SONG 

SLE  OF  MUBA 


AS  SUNG  BY  THE  ESTRANGERO 
TO     THE    TUNE    OF    HIAWATHA. 

HY  WITH 

JOSEPH    A.    NUNEZ.   |  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT    &    CO. 

1885. 


Copyright,  1884,  by  J.  B.  LIPPINCOTT  &  Co. 


DEDICATION. 


To  THE  HON.  BENJAMIN  HARRIS  BREWSTER. 

My  dear  Sir, — A  friendship  between  us,  of  so  many  years 
that  I  dare  not  number  them,  creates  the  reasonable  desire  that 
you  should  accept  this  dedication  in  the  spirit  with  which  it  is 
tendered.  I  know  you  will  do  this,  for,  besides  that  chivalric 
nature,  and  elegant  culture,  that  has  always  distinguished  you, 
there  is  a  grand  appreciativeness  you  display  that  encourages 
the  most  modest  merit,  and  makes  you — 

"  E'en  as  just  a  man 
As  e'er  my  conversation  coped  withal," 

and  which,  without  hyperbole,  justifies  me  in  declaring  that — 

"Since  my  dear  soul  was  mistress  of  her  choice 
And  could  of  men  distinguish,  her  election 

Hath  sealed  thee  for  herself." 

\ 

Sincerely, 

Your  friend, 

JOSEPH   A.  NUNEZ. 
SEPTEMBER  30,  1884. 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 

MORO  CASTLE  AND  BAY  OF  HAVANA        .        Frontispiece. 
AN  INGENIO         ........      49 

TEL-ARANAS no 

BULL-RING  AND  PRIZE-RING 136 

A  CUBAN  BAND 150 

BEHIND  THE  BARS  166 


M310183 


PREFACE. 


THE  Estrangero,  who  has  elected  to  present  him 
self  to  the  public  in  the  mantle  worn  by  one  of 
much  higher  inspiration  than  he  can  pretend  to, 
claims  that  said  garment,  though  second-hand,  is 
no  more  injured  by  previous  wearing  than  was  the 
mantle  of  Elijah,  that,  dropping  from  his  shoulders 
as  he  ascended  to  loftier  inspirations,  descended 
upon  the  form  of  the  humbler  Elisha. 

The  Estrangero,  in  his  many  visits  to  Cuba,  and 
who  has  spent  a  considerable  portion  of  the  past 
three  years  there,  had  accumulated,  from  current 
observation  and  especial  memoranda,  such  a  quan 
tity  of  valuable  information,  some  of  which  had, 
apparently,  escaped  the  notice  of  former  writers, 
that  he  had  designed  putting  the  results  of  his 
labors  and  reflections  in  prosaic  habiliments  for 
the  purpose  of  publication.  He  had  contemplated 
the  adventurous  act  of  launching  a  book  of  travels, 
in  the  usual  form,  upon  the  treacherous  waters  of 

7 


5  PREFACE. 

popular  favor,  but  was  advised  that  there  was  no 
market  for  prose-ware  of  that  kind,  and  that  his 
boat  would  be  wrecked  before  she  could  get  out  of 
sight  of  the  land. 

The  arguments  which  impressed  him  unanswer 
ably  were,  that  it  is  equally  useless  and  unprofitable 
to  attempt  to  supply  a  demand  which  does  not  exist; 
and  that,  no  matter  how  fondly  parental  affection 
may  regard  its  offspring,  it  cannot,  in  the  eyes  of 
the  unprejudiced,  transform  homeliness  to  beauty, 
or  awkwardness  to  grace ;  not  even  though  the  case 
should  be  presented  with  the  eloquence  of  a  Cicero 
or  the  vehemence  of  a  Demosthenes. 

It  is  melancholy  to  have  one's  beatific  visions  dis 
rupted  by  this  kind  of  argumentum  ad  hominem, 
especially  if  the  favorite  vision  has  the  irresistible 
attractiveness  of  a  "  bantling  of  the  brain  ;"  but  if 
the  world  will  not  adopt  our  ideas,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  will  adopt  our  favorite  nursling,  it  is  wise  to 
modify  those  ideas,  and  to  offer  for  its  considera 
tion  another  member  of  a  literary  progeny  that  had 
previously  been  considered  as  only  a  sort  of  a  foster- 
child,  and  so  constrain  its  applause  by  the  sacrifice 
of  our  own  pet  foibles,  and  the  adoption  of  the 
channels  that  had  found  favor  with  an  imperious 
disposition. 

Now  we  know,  on  the  best  authority,  that  "all 
the  world's  a  stage,"  and  that 


PREFACE.  9 

"  Life's  but  a  walking  shadow,  a  poor  player, 
That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage, 
And  then  is  heard  no  more ;" 

yet  we  all  want — no  matter  how  indifferent  may 
be  our  talents  in  the  play-acting  line — to  have  our 
"hour"  with  some  eclat.  We  all  hunger  for  the 
applause  of  the  "Gods  of  the  Gallery,"  as  well  as 
for  the  vivas,  bravas,  and  encores  of  the  scented 
darlings  of  the  private  boxes  and  dress-circle ;  and, 
though  we  may  agree  in  theory  with  the  melancholy 
Hamlet  when  he  says  that  the  opinion  of  one  judi 
cious  critic  should  outweigh  "  a  whole  theatre  of 
others,"  we — the  less  sublimated  spirits — would  pre 
fer,  when  "  treading  the  boards"  to  a  crowded  house, 
to  have  that  whole  theatre  with  us,  and  that  judi 
cious  critic  against  us,  than  the  reverse  of  the  prop 
osition  ;  both  on  the  ground  of  invincible  vanity, 
and  of  a  latent  faith  in  the  doctrine  of  the  vox 
populi,  and  the  fallibility  of  individual  judgment. 
This  conclusion  is  arrived  at  by  the  same  mode  of 
reasoning  that  impresses  a  man  on  trial  for  his  life, 
and  causes  him  to  infinitely  prefer  the  voices  of  the 
eleven  obstinate  jurors  voting  to  acquit  him  to  the 
mellifluous  tones  of  the  remaining  juror  and  sound, 
judicious  philosopher,  who  would  treat  him  to  "a 
long  rope  and  a  short  shrift !" 

While  the  Estrangero  does  not  agree  with  a  cele 
brated  writer  who  describes  the  trumpet  of  fame  as 


I0  PREFACE. 

only  a  penny  toy,  he  does  not  deny  the  assertion 
that  very  few  really  achieve  fame,  while  very  many 
attain  to  an  evanescent  notoriety, — 

"  Like  the  waves  of  the  summer,  as  one  dies  away 
Another  as  bright  and  as  shining  comes  on." 

And  yet,  when  the  matter  is  seriously  considered, 
what  is  the  real  difference  between  fame  and  noto 
riety  ?  Ask  it  of  "  the  pious  fool  who  built  the 
Ephesian  dome,"  and  of  "  the  aspiring  youth  who 
fired  it!"  Ask  it  of  Priam  and  Sir  Pandarus,  of 
Caesar  and  Catiline,  of  Lorenzo  de'  Medici  and  the 
Borgia,  of  William  the  Silent  of  Orange,  of  Henry 
the  Third  of  France,  and  of  the  large-hearted  and 
dauntless  Henry  of  Navarre,  and  their  mercenary 
and  bigoted  assassins,  and  let  their  answers  be  com 
pared,  and  they  all  may  be  consolidated  into  the 
oracular  statement  that  "the  world  is  redundant 
with  fools  who  are  ever  ready  to  accept  an  empty 
sound  as  a  rounded  significance,  and  without  an 
analysis,  or  even  superficial  investigation." 

There  is  yet  another  consideration — more  impor 
tant  than  mercantile  values  or  relative  longevities 
— in  the  mind  of  the  Estrangero,  and  which  has  had 
much  weight  in  inducing  him  to  adopt  verse  instead 
of  prose,  as  the  vehicle  of  conveyance  of  his  facts 
and  his  fancies  to  the  hospitable  reception  of  his 
desired  readers,  and  that  consideration  consists  in 


PREFACE.  U 

the  fact  that  a  poet's  language  will  linger  longer  in 
the  memory  of  his  own  and  future  generations  than 
will  the  words  of  a  prose  writer,  whose  name  only 
will  be  preserved,  save  in  the  memories  of  students 
and  scholars.  The  masses,  as  Dean  Swift  has  very 
humorously  and  epigrammatically  remarked,  will 
treat  prose  writers  as  they  do  the  nobility, — "learn 
their  titles  and  boast  of  their  acquaintance."  From 
Homer  down,  the  very  language  of  poets  is  famil 
iarly  quoted;  while  orators,  historians,  philosophers, 
theologians,  and  scientists  are  known  principally  by 
name,  and  by  the  titles  of  their  celebrated  works. 

Even  Mother  Goose  is  quoted,  word  for  word ; 
and  every  voice,  from  lisping  infancy  to  second 
childhood,  can  recite  "Hickory  Dickery  Dock" 
and  "Old  Mother  Hubbard;"  while  but  very  few 
can  recite  continued  passages,  or  even  single  para 
graphs,  from  a  Xenophon,  a  Plato,  a  Pliny,  a  Taci 
tus,  a  Bacon,  a  Newton,  a  Montesquieu,  a  St.  Pierre, 
a  Humboldt,  a  Sheridan,  a  Pitt,  a  Burke,  a  Webster, 
a  Clay,  or  a  Motley.  Now,  while  the  Estrangero 
does  not  claim  to  have  said,  in  the  following  poem, 
anything  that  is  great  or  original,  he  does  entertain 
the  hope  that  he  has  said  something  that  will  be 
quoted  by  some  of  the  little  people,  smaller  than 
himself, — something  that  has  a  tendency  to  make 
some  one  better  and  wiser  than  he  would  have  been 
without  this ;  which,  in  this  wise,  may  be  rescued 


12  PREFACE. 

from  premature  mortality,  and  become  one  of  the 

feeble 

"  Footprints  on  the  sands  of  time." 

If  such  should  be  the  case,  he  will  never  regret 
having  sung  his  "Song  of  the  Isle  of  Cuba,"  for 
he  will  feel  that  his  mission  has  been  accomplished, 
and  that  he  has  not  lived  in  vain. 

J.  A.  N. 


INTRODUCTION. 


ON  the  road  we  have  to  travel, 

From  New  York  to  Isle  of  Cuba, 

On  that  first-class  steamer  "  Newport," 

Ere  we  leave  Manhattan  Island, 

We  might  spend  much  time  descanting 

On  our  native  land's  perfections, 

And  its  wonderful  resources. 

We  might  catalogue  all  Gotham, 

Then  depict  North  River  scen'ry, 

And  the  wonders  of  Niag'ra ; 

We  might  speak  of  Castle-Garden, 

And  its  singular  transitions, 

And  its  numerous  transitions  ; 

Give  descriptions  of  the  harbor, 

And  enumerate  the  vessels : 

From  shrimps  to  the  leviathans ; 

From  pilot-boats  to  palaces, 

That  dash  o'er  ocean's  surface  ; 


!  4  INTR  OD  UCTION. 

That  perfect  a  panorama, 
Taking  in  both  land  and  water, 
That  the  world,  with  all  its  treasures, 
Never  will  attempt  excelling ; 
Never  will  excel  in  beauty. 

We  might  cultivate  the  pilot 
Ere  he  glides  into  his  small  boat ; 
Charge  him  with  some  light  commissions  ; 
With  congees  for  Quarantine  ground, 
And  P  D.  A.'s  for  Sandy  Hook : 
We  might  sketch  such  vivid  pictures 
Of  live  fish  and  of  the  ocean, 
With  its  green  waves  and  blue  waves, 
That  the  artists  of  salt  water — 
Those  whose  forte  is  marine  pictures — 
Might  grow  green  with  jealous  fancies ; 
Might  grow  desperate  to  madness, 
And  to  suicidal  mania. 

But  the  question  of  cut  bono? 
Rises  up,  and,  like  a  Mentor, 
Says, — and  speaks  with  voice  authentic, — 
"  Many  volumes  have  been  written, 
Ay,  whole  libraries  are  printed, 
On  the  subjects  just  referred  to, 
And  man's  threescore  years  and  ten  are 
Much  too  short  for  repetition 
Of  the  things  already  well  said/' 


INTR  OD  UCTION.  T , 

* 

Now  this  Mentor's  my  soul's  father ; 

Dictator  and  Gamaliel, 

Whose  wise  counsel  is  adopted, 

Both  because  it  is  wise  counsel, 

And  because  it  fits  so  nicely 

With  the  counsel  inculcated 

By  a  cynosure  in  rhythm, — 

In  the  rhythm  of  this  poem ; 

Who  has  said,  in  other  rhythm, 

"  Art  is  long,  and  time  is  fleeting ;" 

Which  is  quoted  as  sound  doctrine ; 

As  a  precept  to  be  planted 

Where  'twill  fructify  and  flourish, 

Till  much  nonsense  is  dispensed  with ; 

Till  mere  words  are  expurgated; 

And  all  feel,  as  feels  the  poet 

When  he  adds,  in  sweetest  accents, 

"  Life  is  real !  life  is  earnest !" 

And  we  act  as  if  believing 

Every  word  and  every  sentence, 

So  redundant  with  the  outgrowth 

Of  a  purer  spirit's  being, 

That  would  free  all  other  spirits 

From  contaminating  drosses, 

And  instruct  all  feeble  visions 

To  look  upwards  without  blenching. 


INTR  OD  UCTION. 


Yet  'tis  wise  to  mingle  mirth  with 
E'en  the  best  of  information, 
And  the  soundest  of  good  sermons, 
As  in  Plymouth  Church  is  oft  heard 
From  its  independent  preacher ; 
From  its  comprehensive  thinker; 
From  its  orator  so  famous 
That  no  other  preacher  living, 
As  a  preacher,  ranks  before  him ! 
Though,  in  politics,  his  neighbors 
Think  he  grows,  at  times,  erratic  : 
That  he  wrongs  a  splendid  preacher 
When  he  aims  to  be  a  statesman  ; 
Yet  they  all  admit  his  stature, 
In  his  spiritual  vocation, 
And  they  yield  their  admiration, 
As  a  voluntary  tribute, 
For  his  scope  of  mental  power ; 
For  his  vividness  of  fancy ; 
For  his  copiousness  of  language, 
Freighted  always  with  bright  thinkings  ; 
For  his  soft,  persuasive  accents, 
Building  hopes  in  desert  places ; 


INTR  OD  UCTION.  T  * 

Cooling  ploughshares  for  ordeals  ; 
Lifting  brambles  from  the  pathway, 
O'er  which  bleeding  feet  must  travel ; 
And  in  dark  and  frightful  caverns, 
And  in  many  crooks  and  crannies, 
Letting  in  the  cheerful  sunshine ; 
Placing  Light  like  Truth  with  Error, 
Making  Light  and  Darkness  grapple, 
And  believing  that  the  great  God — 
That  the  Universal  Father — 
In  the  time  He  has  appointed, 
Will  be  ever  found  defending, 
And  in  spite  of  obscuration, 
The  Right,  which  He  created  ! 
The  firm  principles  of  Justice ! 
The  supremacy  of  pure  Light : 
And  without  a  cloud  to  dim  it ! 

These  the  doctrines  which  that  preacher 
Is  a  power  in  expounding  ; 
And  he  goes  about  in  missions, 
Where  his  right  hand  and  his  left  hand 
Make  no  vaunting  publications, 
But  look  on,  and  show  no  signs  of 
Their  quiescent  approbation, 
Of  appeals  made  to  all  sinners, 
Sinning  'gainst  mere  man,  or  heaven, 
With  a  force  of  rushing  torrents, 

2* 


1 8  INTR  OD  UCTION. 

And  without  regard  to  custom ; 

Like  Samaritan  of  first  class  ! 

Caring  not  for  rags  nor  purple, 

But  with  fervency  believing 

That  men  are,  and  should  be,  brothers ! 


Solid  food,  and  only  solid, 
May  do  very  well  for  yeomen, 
Or  for  troops  they  call  Beef-eaters — 
Who  were  once  the  pride  of  England — 
And  for  Esquimaux  on  icebergs ; 
But,  if  beef  alone  is  eaten, 
Then  the  noble  brain  grows  beefy, 
And  the  soul  becomes  quite  stagnant, 
And  the  stomach  grows  dyspeptic ; 
And  there  is  disintegration, 
And,  besides,  conglomeration, 
In  the  private  social  system, 
In  the  personal  arrangements, 
Or  the  personal  derangements, 
Of  obfusticated  mankind  ; 
Of  its  limbs  and  vital  members ! 
So,  by  leave  of  gracious  readers, 
When  we  prose  we'll  not  be  prosy, 


INTR  OD  UCTION.  l  9 

Nor  permit  them  to  grow  dozy ; 
Nor  dig  mines  long  since  exhausted ; 
Nor  tell  tales  that  have  been  thrice  told ; 
But  will  change,  as  suits  occasion, 
And  will  sometimes  wear  the  motley, 
Like  fair  Rosalind's  attendant, — 
Like  the  quaint  and  witty  Touchstone : 
Or,  we'll  moralize  with  Jaques — 
(All  the  actors  call  him  Ja — ques,) 
And  will  preach  from  "As  You  Like  It" 
With  the  good  Duke — Ros'lind's  father ; 
And  like  him,  will  find  sound  sermons 
Wedged  in  stones,  and  books  in  brooklets, 
And  find  some  "  good  in  everything." 


With  this  hope, — by  aid  of  magic, — 
Such  as  authors,  by  prescription, 
Since  the  days  of  ^Esop's  fables, 
Or  the  Golden  Fleece  excursion, 
Have  controlled  in  wild  profusion — 
We  have  flown,  on  wings  of  morning, 
Shaped  firm   cobwebs    mixed   with   dew- 
drops  ; 
Left  a  continent  behind  us : 


20  INTRODUCTION. 

Crossed  a  glassy  waveless  ocean  ; 
Scorned  experience  in  sea-sickness  ; 
And  we  stand,  like  the  McGregor, 
Or  like  Dickens'  Micawber, 
With  our  foot  on  native  heather  ! 
That's  on  Cuban  native  heath,  set  ; 
Which  squares  well  with  Gilbert's  Gen'ral, 
Who,  in  op'ra  of  the  "  Pirates," 
In  "  The  Pirates  of  the  Penzance," 
Claims  a  tomb  of  recent  purchase,  — 
Crammed  with  bones  of  former  owners,  — 
As  containing  his  ancestors, 
And  because,  forsooth,  he  bought  them  ! 


But  avaunt  !  all  meaner  topics  ; 
Place  aux  dames  !  is  now  the  watchword, 
And  we  bow  as  deferential 
As  King  Arthur,  or  as  Bayard, 
Or  the  Admirable  Crichton, 
Or  as  Louis,  called  the  Great,  might, 
Or  as  might  Sir  Philip  Sidney, 
To  the  Queen  of  the  Antilles  ! 


A  SONG  OF  THE  ISLE  OF  CUBA. 


SHOULD    you    ask    me    whence    these 

musings, 

Whence  these  singular  descriptions, 
Which,  with  odors  miasmatic, 
And  with  fragrance  unarabic, 
Curling  most  from  vile  cigaros, 
Made  from  stumps,  picked  up  at  random, 
By  the  gutter-snipe  Celestials ; 
Who,  from  filth  beyond  description, 
Gather  eagerly  those  fragments 
That  would  nauseate  the  stomach 
Of  a  hog,  with  much  trichina, 
Or  a  mangy  dog  or  monkey ! 
Which  delectable  dark  gleanings, 
They,  with  very  doubtful  cleansing, 
And  with  aid  of  nimble  fingers, 
Or  mechanical  contrivance, 
Pass  through  easy  transformation 
Into  cigarettes  exquisite, 
That  so  gratify  the  palates, 
And  so  soothe  the  nervous  systems 

21 


22  A   SONG    OF   THE 

Of  our  lady-killing  dandies, 

Of  our  modern  dilettanti, 

As  they  roll  them,  with  much  mincing  ; 

As  they  hold  them  'twixt  their  fingers, 

'Twixt  their  alabaster  fingers, 

'Twixt  their  long-nailed  taper  fingers, 

While  they  watch  fantastic  figures 

Curling  smoke  is  generating 

For  their  special  delectation  ! 


And  these  gutter-snipe  Celestials 
Never  can  become  familiar, 
But  are  optical  delusions 
To  most  optics  European  ; 
While  the  everlasting  Yankee 
Finds  them  like  the  laws  of  physics ; 
Like  attraction  and  repulsion, 
And  is  forced  to  gaze  upon  them, 
By  power  of  the  basilisk, 
When  he  fain  would  shun  their  presence ! 

What  a  wish  for  mundane  creatures  ! 
Shun  the  presence  of  Celestials ! 
But  these  gutter-snipe  Celestials, 
These  poor  Asiatic  "  mudsills," 


ISLE  OF  CUBA.  2$ 

Have  no  heavenly  airs  about  them, 
But  may  bring,  like  Hamlet's  father, 
Blasts  from — from — a  horrid  country, 
And  a  very  torrid  country ! 
Yes,  these  Celestials  uncelestial, 
Are  the  pig-tailed  sons  of  China, 
Whose  occipital  appendage — 
Their   long   queue  of  black  and   coarse 

hair — 

Is  a  personal  adornment, 
And  esteemed  affiliation 
With  their  native  land  so  distant ; 
Where,  in  spite  of  all  rough  treatment, 
Their  hopes  turn  as  to  a  magnet, 
As  the  home  for  life's  declension, 
Or  the  grave  for  death's  concealment. 
Such  the  hopes  in  the  dim  future 
Of  these  almond-eyed  Celestials, 
Who  are,  judging  by  appearance, 
(By  the  mummified  appearance 
Of  their  skins  so  dark  and  waxy, 
Of  their  skins  like  old  tanned  leather,) 
Older  than  their  god  Confucius ; 
Thinner  than  a  poplar  shingle  ; 
Browner  far  than  any  berry ; 
With  their  baggy  nankeen  breeches, — 
That's  supposing  they  wear  breeches  ! 
3 


24  A   SONG    OF  THE 

Men  who  never  wore  a  clean  shirt, 
And,  perhaps,  not  e'en  a  soiled  one, 
Though    they   "Washee!"    "Washee!" 

"  Washee !" 

In  unmitigated  measure, 
And  with  breath  that  knocks  a  mule  down, 
Or  might  please  a  turkey-buzzard ! 
They  come  here  to  make  a  living, 
Which  they  get  by  occupations 
Even  negroes  scorn  to  stoop ! 
And  they  live  like  pigs  in  pig-stye, 
Amidst  odors  unlike  roses, 
Not  the  least  like  double  jasmine, 
Or  the  fragrant  young  verbena, 
Nor  akin  to  the  sweet  vi'let, 
Or  the  heaven-climbing  woodbine  ; 
Not  as  sweet  as  honeysuckle, 
Not  linked  to  rose  geranium, 
Or  "  balm  of  a  thousand  flowers," 
Or  to  any  other  flow' ret 
Worn  by  ladies  in  their  dresses, 
Or  to  decorate  their  tresses, 
Or  to  carry  in  their  fair  hands, 
Or  to  dangle  from  their  girdles ! 
Not  a  bit  like  "Lubin's  Extracts," 
No,  not  even  like  pond-lilies, 
Nor  like  "Lundburg's  fav'rite  toilets ;" 


ISLE  OF  CUBA. 

But  with  odors  one's  blood  curdles, 
Till  one  thinks  of  making  hurdles 
To  drag  Chinamen  down  to  —  well, 
To  a  place  that  is  not  heaven, 
Though  it  might  be  —  Chinese  heaven  ! 
Judging  from  the  Chinese  samples 
That  still  keep  crowding  on  our  sight, 
And  by  underbidding  labor 
Where  'tis  thriving  in  our  cities  ; 
By  competing  in  all  fact'ries, 
Where  they  work  for  almost  nothing, 
They're  disgusting  our  olfact'ries, 
Both  with  actions  uncelestial 
And  with  smells  that  shock  our  noses  ! 


25 


Should  you  question  of  these  subjects, 
And  a  multitude  of  others, 
With  a  faith  there's  no  beguiling 
In  its  sober-sided  firmness, 
I  should  answer ;  I  should  tell  you  ; 
Yes,  would  tell  you  the  whole  story ; 
All  I  know  about  the  matter, 
Of  the  famous  Isle  of  Cuba, 
This  great  Queen  of  the  Antilles, 

3 


A   SONG    OF  THE 

Who  this  season  rather  ill  is 
At  the  low  price  of  molasses, 
And  the  fall  there  is  in  sugar, 
Beyond  saddest  calculations  ; 
Which  fair  Queen  of  the  Antilles 
Was  discovered,  as  we  all  know, 
And  was  captured  by  Columbus 
In  mistake  for  the  East  Indies, 
And  became  a  precious  jewel, 
To  be  worn  and  sparkle  brightly 
In  the  diadem  of  Old  Spain ; 
When  Old  Spain,  with  rising  glory, 
From  her  wisdom  and  her  prowess, 
Under  Ferdinand  the  Prudent, 
And  her  pious  Isabella, 
Her  most  gracious  Isabella, 
Was  eclipsing  other  nations, 
Both  in  arms  and  in  her  commerce, 
And  in  her  conquered  countries, 
And  gave  promise  in  the  future — 
Which  came  striding  like  a  giant — 
To  be  mistress  of  the  whole  world ! 
And  with  her  veteran  army, 
Led  by  dauntless  vet'ran  chieftains, 
To  dwarf  Macedonian  Phalanx, 
And  to  shadow  Roman  Cohorts, 
And  to  send  her  streaming  banners 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  27 

Where  the  Phalanx  nor  the  Cohort, 
Nor  the  bravest  Roman  Legion, 
Could  have  dreamed  there  was  a  footing, 
And  where  ne'er  a  Roman  consul 
Could  have  bid  the  Roman  eagles 
Wing  their  flight  for  Roman  conquest. 

All  I  know  about  this  jewel, 
This  bright  Queen  of  the  Antilles, 
I  would  tell  you  with  much  pleasure, 
But  should  tell  you  in  instalments, 
Or,  perhaps,  in  quarter-sections ; 
Waiting  till  each  quarter-section 
Might  be  properly  digested  ; 
When,  in  answer  to  loud  calling ; 
To  encores  and  much  applauding ; 
To  a  host  of  eager  voices, 
Like  the  warblings  of  song-birds, 
From  unnumbered  bright-eyed  damsels, 
And  from  artists  of  all  classes ; 
You  may  see  the  footlights  burning, 
And  the  stage  illuminated ; 
The  whole  house  in  festive  costume, 
As  the  high-toned  curtain  riseth ; 
As  orchestral  music  swelleth, 
To  an  instalment's  graceful  bow, 
And  to  a  quarter-section's  nod ! 

Should  you  ask  me  which  instalment, 


28  A   SONG   OF  THE 

Or  which  special  quarter-section 
Of  the  blooming  land  of  Cuba 
We  elect  by  secret  ballot, 
And  propose  inaugurating, 
We  should  tell  you  without  fearing 
The  false  charge  of  engineering 
Some  paltry  advertising  dodge. 
'Tis  Cardenas  we  will  start  with,  — 
Not  because  the  most  important, 
Or  most  picturesque  in  seeming 
Of  all  cities  on  this  island, 
But  because  it  is  so  well  known  ; 
And  because  I've  lived  there  lately, 
And  been  very  kindly  treated, 
And  I  rather  like  the  city 
Better  than  its  sister  cities. 


<? 


Than  Matanzas,  its  near  neighbor  ; 
Though  that  claims  more  ancient  lineage, 
And  it  boasts  a  cave  of  crystals, 
Which  has  long  been  celebrated 
As  a  first-class  Cuban  wonder, 
And  not  difficult  of  access  ; 
Yet  I  like  Cardenas  better 
Than  Matanzas  or  Havana  ! 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  2g 

Even  better  than  Havana, 
With  its  antique  Moorish  castle, 
With  its  castle  on  the  hill-top, 
Frowning  on  the  sheltered  harbor; 
Seen  by  ships  as  they're  approaching, 
Or  by  ling'ring  looks  departing ; 
Always  seen  with  eyes  of  interest, 
And  for  twenty  miles  is  noticed 
When  the  atmosphere's  not  hazy ; 
When  the  beacon's  brightly  burning ; 
Which,  at  distance,  seems  enchantment, 
Weaving  spells  of  potent  meaning  ; 
Sending  off  electric  currents, 
To  secure  the  prompt  attendance 
Of  a  congress  of  bright  spirits, 
For  the  grave  consideration 
Of  the  fate  that  may  impend  now 
O'er  the  future  of  this  island. 
I  repeat,  that  I  prefer  it : 
Like  it  better  than  Havana, 
With  its  land-locked  bay  so  stagnant ; 
Needing  outlet  to  the  ocean  ; 
Needing  much  a  cleansing  current, 
For  the  city's  health  and  comfort ; 
Which,  by  engineering  science, 
As  some  engineers  have  stated, 
Can  be  certainly  established 


A   SONG    OF  THE 

By  expenditure,  in  reason, 
Of  required  time  and  money. 
And  when  at  length  perfected, 
It  will  make  that  regal  city 
Quite  as  famed  for  health  as  beauty, 
And  desirable  the  year  round 
For  abode  and  visitation  ; 
But,  until  that  is  established, 
For  a  place  of  steady  dwelling, 
We  must  be  excused  for  saying 
That  we  like  Cardenas  better 
Than  Havana — with  its  "  Moro  ;" 
With  its  weird  and  beetling  castle ; 
With  its  light-house  on  that  castle, 
On  the  top  of  Moro  Castle, 
Where  its  light  keeps  on  revolving, 
With  an  eye  that's  never  sleeping, 
While  the  sun  has  gone  to  slumber, 
(Or  to  wake  up  other  peoples, 
Who  take  turns  about,  at  sleeping, 
With  this  hemisphere  of  ours,) 
While  its  back  is  turned  towards  him, 
Till  he  peeps  out  in  the  morning, 
In  the  gray  of  early  morning, 
And  begins  the  sky  to  color 
With  such  tints  as  Nature  only 
Keeps  exhaustless  in  her  storehouse, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  31 

And  with  lavish  hand  dispenses, 
When  she  gilds  the  east  with  glory, 
And  with  grandeur  prints  her  sunsets, 
Making  heaven  so  resplendent 
That  the  earth  seems  lifted  upwards, 
And  forever,  from  its  shadows, 
Into  everlasting  brightness  ! 

Now,  perhaps,  it  seems  surprising, 
Yet  'tis  true  as  gospel  preaching, 
That  I  like  Cardenas  better — 
In  some  trifling  things  much  better — 
Even  better  than  Havana  ! 
As,  for  instance, — yellow  fever ! 
Which  Havana's  well  supplied  with, 
Often  in  redundant  measure  ; 
And  I  don't  like  yellow  fever, 
(Would  not  like  it  though  'twas  pea-green  ; 
No,  or  even  royal-purple,) 
Never  fancied  its  embraces  ; 
Never  hankered  for  its  presence ; 
Ne'er  could  treat  it  with  politeness, 
Take  it  to  my  board  and  bedding, 
Nor  would  wish  it  at  my  wedding, 
If  I  were  a  blushing  bridegroom : 
And,  in  fact,  I  can't  abide  it, — 
Though,  indeed,  I  never  tried  it, — 
And  I  make  this  free  confession, — 


32  A   SONG   OF   THE 

Without  fear  of  fiends  of  fever, 

And  despite  its  imps  of  mischief, — 

I  abhor  it !  I  despise  it ! 

And  anathema  declare  it ! 

As  I  would  do  scarlet  fever, 

Or  the  Asiatic  cholera, 

Which,  e'en  compliment  to  Asia, 

Could  not  render  welcome  guest  here  ; 

Though  it  came  in  mourning  garments, 

Such  as  crape  or  saddest  sable  ; 

Or  in  any  fancy  colors, 

Such  as  scarlet,  pink,  or  yellow : 

They  are  all  proclaimed  indecent ; 

And  they  ne'er  should  be  invited, 

Not  to  any  high-toned  households, 

Where  aristocratic  noses 

Sniff  the  clouds  at  sharpest  angles, 

And  abjure  all  things  plebeian ; 

Such  as  commonplace  diseases, 

Or  as  common  people's  presence  ; 

All  of  which  might  spread  contagion, 

And  demand  funeral  trappings. 

And  when  Death,  as  King  of  Terrors, 

Lays  the  rich  man  by  the  beggar, — 

Scatters  wealth  long  lives  have  hoarded, 

(Grasped,  at  times,  from  mites  of  widows, 

Or  from  orphans'  scanty  portions  ; 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  33 

Heaped  at  risk  of  soul's  salvation,) 
Equals  rights,  with  naked  justice, 
Levels  ranks ;  and,  quite  regardless 
Of  the  blue-blood,  or  the  puddle, 
He  becomes  a  strident  nuisance, 
And  a  socialist,  and  robber ! 
Ruthlessly  destroying  fences, 
Smashing  glazing  of  green-houses, 
Scattering  the  best  exotics, 
Razing  temples  taste  constructed, 
Hurling  down  Chinese  pagodas, 
Cheek  by  jowl  with  Grecian  sculpture, 
And  thatched  hovels'  paltry  pig-pens ; 
Multiplying  grave  offences, 
'Gainst  all  rules  of  social  order, 
And  all  precepts  of  decorum, 
He  deserves,  without  redemption, 
To  be  hanged,  and  drawn,  and  quartered, 
Or  be  extradited  promptly 
To  Japan  or  Madagascar ! 

Now  this  town  is  very  healthy ; 
Scarcely  knows  the  yellow  fever ; 
Bows  politely  to  that  fever ; 
Gently  smiles  at  yellow  fever ; 
Loudly  laughs  at  yellow  fever ; 
Even  sneezes  at  the  fever ; 
Which  it  thinks  is  only  moonshine, 


34 


A   SONG   OF  THE 


That  can't  frighten  youngest  babies, 
Though  they  may  not  be  three  weeks  old  ; 
Though  they've  hardly  seen  the  daylight  ; 
Scarcely  know  their  own  sick  mothers, 
Saving  when  they  want  their  dinners, 
Or  their  suppers,  or  their  lunches, — 
Which  come  very  close  together, — 
And  not  caring  for  their  fathers, 
(Who  are  called  their  pas,  or  papas,) 
E'en  when  those  pas  are  pas  encore. 


"E'en  better  than  Havana!" 
It  seems  strange  to  hear  that  statement, 
And  to  hear  it  thus  repeated, — 
"  Even  better  than  Havana !" 


With  its  castle  called  Cabanas, 
Which  extends  back  from  the  "  Moro," 
Which  could  tell  some  thrilling  stories — 
Like  "The  Prisoner  of  Chillon," 
Or  some  prisoners  of  Venice — 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


35 


If  its  dungeon  walls  dared  utter 
All  the  secrets  trusted  to  them, 
Which  they  still  deem  confidential 
Which  they  hold  in  sullen  silence  ! 


"  Even  better  than  Havana  !" 
With  its  numberless  pretensions  ; 
With  its  Prado  and  theatre, 
And  their  grand  illuminations, 
From  a  multitude  of  gas-jets 
Turning  evening  into  daylight, 
And,  when  bands  play  on  the  Prado,  — 
Which  they  do,  sometimes,  on  Thursdays, 
And  they  always  do  on  Sundays,  — 
Making  up  Arabian  Nights'  Scenes  ; 
Scenes  of  Oriental  splendor  ; 
Scenes  of  magic  and  of  witchcraft  ; 
Scenes  that  fairies  might  delight  ; 
Scenes  that  Ariel  might  order, 
When  Prospero,  in  "  The  Tempest," 
Bids  him  furnish  for  Miranda, 
And  for  Ferdinand,  her  lover, 
An  enchanting  entertainment. 
Yet,  in  spite  of  all  this  beauty, 


36  A   SONG   OF  THE 

Of  bewitching  lights  and  shadows, 
To  the  text  we  still  are  constant, — 
To  the  text  about  Havana : 
With  its  Louvre  and  posadas, 
And  with  all  their  tinsel  glitter : 
With  its  cheap  fares  for  street-driving ; 
With  its  many  private  coaches ; 
With  its  flunkies  dressed  in  liv'ry ; 
With  its  many  long-tailed  horses, 
And  its  many  bob-tailed  riders ; 
And  its  stores,  where  they  speak  Eng 
lish — 

As  announced  in  print— in  Spanish — 
In  a  very  awkward  manner, 
Such  as  leaves  all  fancies  freedom 
To  accept  it,  or  reject  it, 
As  an  obsolete  old  jargon, 
Or  a  new  light  from  the  Black  Flags ! 
But,  in  spite  of  doubtful  English, 
All  the  clerks — called  depeiidientes, — 
Have  the  knack  of  getting  goods  off; 
And  they  oft  persuade  the  ladies 
That  the  things  which  they  are  seeking 
(If  the  call  they  can't  respond  to — 
If  those  things  they  cannot  furnish — ) 
Are  the  things  they  have  no  need  of, 
But  the  gaudy  things  they  offer, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  ^ 

Or  the  pretty  things  they  tender, 
Are  the  things  in  requisition, 
And  by  no  means  may,  at  pleasure, 
Be  omitted  from  their  toilets, 
Or  withheld  from  their  modistes, 
Lest  the  fiats  females  dread  so 
(That  they're  rococo,  in  dressing, 
Or  are  out  of  style,  in  pattern, 
Or  in  texture,  or  material,) 
Be,  by  fools,  denounced  against  them, 
And  they  forced  to  a  court-martial — 
In  the  nature  of  a  drum-head — 
That's  an  empty-head — court-martial — 
As  deserters  from  the  shrine  of 
The  divinity  called  Fashion ; 
Who  is  Beelzebub's  gay  daughter, 
And  is  Pluto's  cousin-german  ; 
And  is  Light  of  Moloch's  Harem  ; 
And  is  Mammon's  blood  relation, 
Twined  so  close  round  Mammon's  heart 
strings 

That  his  parents,  nor  his  children, 
Can  from  thence  eviscerate  her, 
Or  e'en  modify  her  power ! 

And  the  stores  are  very  num'rous, 
And  are  well  supplied  with  dry-goods, 
And  with  things  that  ladies  fancy ; 


2  8  A  SONG   OF  THE 

And  are  wider  than  most  streets  are, 
Than  the  most  Havana  streets  are, 
For  its  streets  are  very  narrow ; 
So  uncomfortably  narrow 
That  'tis  hard  for  a  wheel-barrow — 
An  attenuated  barrow — 
To  pass  a  coach  between  the  curbs ; 
While  the  sidewalks  are  arranged  for 
Sad  soliloquizing  lovers, 
With  their  Dulcinea  darlings, 
Just  before  or  just  behind  them ; 
For  there  is  no  squeezing  process 
Can  compress  two  adult  persons 
In  a  space  that  barely  answers 
For  a  slender  male  or  female, 
And  on  very  slender  diet, 
And  without  a  hearty  dinner ! 


While  Havana's  streets  are  narrow, 
There's  some  sense  in  the  assertion, 
That  'twas  wise  to  so  arrange  them, 
As  protection  against  sun-heat 
And  the  hurricane's  mad  fury  ; 
So  the  fact  involves  no  censure, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


39 


Like  the  presence  of  the  fever, 
Which,  by  wise  persistent  drainage, 
Could,  in  time,  be  mitigated, 
Or  be  banished,  and  forever ! 
While  Havana's  oft  afflicted 
With  intrusive  yellow  fever, 
'Tis  not  often  very  fatal, 
Save  when  courted  by  imprudence, 
Or  neglected  till  late  hour. 

Now  the  offset  that's  against  it, — 
For  a  Cuban,  who's  reproachful — 
When  'tis  worth  his  while  to  claim  it — 
When  'tis  proved  by  plain  addition, 
Or  by  chemists'  combination, 
That  two  wrongs,  consolidated, 
Make  one  right,  and  twice  the  size  of 
Either  wrong  on  which  'tis  founded ; 
Is — the  offset  just  referred  to — 
A  known  epidemic  nuisance, 
That  prevails  across  the  Gulf  Stream, 
And  with  virulence  surprising ; 
Which  has  spared,  in  a  great  measure, 
All  the  cities  of  this  island, 
Though  it  seems  that  its  area 
Grows  with  march  of  civ'lization  ; 
And  that's  one  of  the  objections 
To  the  music  of  that  grand  march, 


40  A  SONG    OF  THE 

Which,  in  all  things  else,  is  perfect, 

And  confers  increasing  blessings 

On  the  human  race,  afflicted 

By  the  sins  and  peccadilloes, 

Gathered  in  an  apple-orchard, 

With  the  eating  of  an  apple ! 

And  the  nuisance  just  referred  to 

Is  of  multiform  description, 

Though  it  may  be  named  in  brief  words 

As  the  Agency  afflictions, — 

Such  as  Life  Insurance  Agents  ; 

As  Book  Agents,  male  and  female ; 

As  the  Sewing- Mac  June  Agents  ; 

With  their  cataracts  of  small -talk, 

And  with  faces  hard  as  granite ; 

As  the  Lightning- Rod  Expounders  ; 

And,  last  of  all,  but  not  the  least,  is 

Bashful  Interviewer  s  nuisance, — 

The  Reportorial  Nuisance ; 

Which,  like  war-horse  of  the  Scriptures, 

Scents  the  bloody  war  afar  off, 

And  he  prances  with  delight  at 

A  mal-odorous  expression 

Borne  upon  the  tainted  breezes, 

And  he  starts  on  hunts  like  beagles, 

Or  like  blood-hounds,  or  like  eagles ; 

And  he  knows  no  peace  nor  rest  till 


ISLE  OF  CUBA. 

He  has  caught,  and  killed,  his  quarry  ! 
And  amongst  poor  quiet  people, 
Who  could  ne'er  conceive  a  reason 
They're  selected  for  affliction 
By  a  ghoul  in  human  clothing  ; 
Whose  persistence  in  unearthing 
All  the  dead  and  buried  corpses, 
That  can  furnish  them  a  chapter 
For  sensational  reporting, 
Is  a  wonder  for  all  ages. 


4! 


But,  to  Cardenas  returning, 
Where  a  consulate's  located 
In  the  coolest  of  cool  quarters, 
And  the  neatest  of  fine  buildings, 
As  commercial  locum  tenens 
Of  a  very  lively  nation  ; 
And  which  floats  the  Stars  and  Stripes 

there 

On  appropriate  occasions  : 
On  all  national  occasions  ; 
And,  in  compliment  to  Cuba, 
And  to  Spanish  regulations, 
That  flag  courts   the   breeze  on   Saints' 

days, 

4* 


2  A   SONG   OF  THE 

When  the  Spanish  flags  are  mounted. 

Thus  it  always  flies  on  Sundays, 

From  its  flag-staff  on  the  house-top, 

Near  the  Plaza  and  Columbus, — 

Near  bronze  statue  of  Columbus, 

Which,  within  its  iron  railing, 

In  the  centre  of  the  Plaza, 

On  a  pedestal  proportioned 

By  the  taste  of  skilful  artist, 

Is  quite  neatly  executed, 

And  an  honor  to  the  city. 

And  this  Plaza  is  the  lungs  which 

Assists  the  urban  breathing, 

(The  suburban  needs  no  plaza, — 

It  has  lungs  in  every  quarter,) 

'Midst  some  palms  and  many  flowers, 

Not  perfumed,  but  rich  in  colors, 

And  is  very  ornamental 

To  the  town,  and  to  its  large  church, 

Which  looks  out  upon  this  Plaza, 

And  on  youngsters,  recreating, 

And  on  oldsters,  meditating, 

And  on  much  perambulating, 

And  on  queerest  kinds  of  capers, 

Not  the  slightest  sacerdotal, 

Never  even  squinting  skyward. 


ISLE  OF  CUBA.  43 


<? 


Now  this  Plaza  s  not  as  large  as 
Central  Park,  nor  yet  as  Fairmount  ; 
It  contains,  perhaps,  three  acres, 
At  a  liberal  estimation, 
And  has  walks  well-paved  and  level, 
And  is  used  for  exercising, 
At  odd  times,  and  in  the  morning  ; 
But  on  every  Sunday  evening, 
When  the  weather  is  auspicious,  — 
From  dim  twilight  to  eleven,  — 
It  is  resort  for  the  whole  city  ; 
It  is  thronged  with  all  the  young  girls, 
And,  besides,  with  many  old  girls, 
And  their  lovers  and  their  male  friends, 
And  their  parents  and  their  aunties, 
And  their  sisters  and  their  cousins  ; 
And  they  all,  sometimes,  are  hearing 
Stirring  strains  of  dulcet  music, 
But  more  frequently  are  making, 
With  their  buzzing,  their  own  music  ! 
And  their  chatting  is  but  buzzing, 
As  the  bees  buzz  when  they're  hiving: 


A   SONG   OF  THE 


£>u 

As  the  busy  bees  when  seeking 
Stores  of  honey  for  housekeeping. 
And  each  girl  she  loves  her  honey  ; 
And  the  young  men,  too,  love  honey \ 
To  the  verge  of  matrimony ; 
Even  to  its  maddest  vortex. 
And  they  ambulate  this  Plaza 
With  the  son  of  Aphrodite, — 
That  mischief-making  archer, — 
Shooting  scores  of  arrows  at  them ; 
Making  vacuous  his  quiver, 
Till  their  hearts  begin  to  quiver, 
Till  their  hearts  are  full  of  tremors, 
Which  will  lead  them  to  the  church-doors 
Which  will  end  but  at  the  altar, 
Or  in  bad  dreams,  like  the  nightmare. 

Round  and  round  the  prattlers  patter, 
In  a  populous  procession, 
While  the  vocal  sounds  are  rising 
In  loud  whispers,  such  as  trees  weave, 
When  their  leaves,  in  playful  dalliance, 
Trifle  with  coquetting  breezes ; 
Or,  like  wavelets  of  the  ocean, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  45 

Rippling  'neath  the  laughing  sunbeams ; 

Or,  like  sparrows,  when  assembled 

In  a  national  convention, 

With  extensive  disputation 

About  wisest  nominations. 

But,  as  all  things  must  have  ending, — 

As  the  hands  of  time  move  forward ; 

As  the  church-clock  strikes  the  hours,— 

One  drops  out,  and  then  another ; 

Till,  at  last,  the  grand  procession 

Has  a  skeleton  appearance, — 

Cannot  even  cast  a  shadow, 

It  is  so  attenuated. 

And  its  ghostly  form  dissolves  then  ; 

Disappears,  and  quite  completely, 

(To  adopt  again  the  figure, 

And  the  language  slightly  altered, 

Of  America's  best  poet,) 

From  the  cares  that  had  infested 

All  the  hours  of  the  daytime  ; 

With  the  prospect  that  the  night  shall 

E'en  be  filled,  and  to  repletion, 

With  the  sweetest  of  sweet  music ; 

While  those  teasing  cares  that  swarmed 

so, 

When  the  sun  was  hot  and  garish, 
Shall,  like  Arabs,  fold  their  tents  up, 


46  A   SONG   OF  THE 

And,  like  Arabs,  do  much  stealing, — 
Steal  away  into  the  darkness. 

Now  'tis  proper,  at  this  juncture, 
To  appeal  for  gracious  pardon 
To  the  author,  whose  fine  language 
Has  been  changed,  by  much  transposing 
For  no  language  is  translated 
Without  loss  of  strength  and  beauty  ; 
Nor  can  poesy, — that's  music 
To  such  minds  as  do  not  grovel ; 
And  to  souls  appreciative 
It  is  nectar  and  ambrosia 
That  the  system's  permeating, 
Which  on  God-like  pinions  bear  it 
To  the  azure,  where  no  storms  can 
Force  e'en  ripples  on  its  surface  ; 
And  where  clouds  are  far  beneath  it, 
Though  they  cap  the  loftiest  mountains ; 
Where  their  shadows — so  destructive 
To  a  state  of  sweet  abstraction, — 
To  the  spirit's  purest  yearning — 
Fail  to  reach  the  heights  above  them, 
And  fall  downwards,  and  not  upivards. 
This  is  truth  itself,  when  speaking 
Of  the  loss  there  is  in  mere  words ; 
Of  the  torture  thoughts  must  suffer 
When  we  have  them  but  translated 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


47 


From  one  language  to  another ; 

And  to  paraphrase  an  author, 

Or  transpose  his  thoughts  and  language, 

Is  to  make  a  poor  translation  ; 

Or  to  pour  the  best  of  new  wine 

In  the  worst  of  doubtful  bottles ; 

Which  a  parable  in  Scripture 

Tells  us,  in  emphatic  language, 

Is  a  plan  that's  not  judicious, 

And  should  always  be  avoided. 

So  we  ask  the  poet's  pardon 

For  the  awkward  transposition, 

And  with  hopes  it  will  be  granted, 

On  the  solemn  pledge  now  uttered, 

To  offend  no  more  in  this  wise, 

Except  under  proved  beguiling 

Very  hard  to  be  resisted, 

And  from  which,  with  best  intention, 

We  will  flee  like  fleetest  race-horse ; 

Or  we'll  imitate  those  Arabs, 

And,  beneath  night's  sombre  mantle, 

We  will  disappear  in  darkness ; 

Send  temptation  off  to  Texas, 

And  bid  Satan  get  behind  us ! 

But  to  Cardenas  returning, — 
(That's  the  second  time  we've  said  this,) 
As  a  type  of  the  whole  island ; 


48  A   SONG   OF  THE 

For  what  is  said  about  that  city, 

With  a  little  more,  or  less  so, 

May  be  said  of  any  other, 

Other  tropical  production, 

Made  of  bricks  and  stone  and  mortar, 

On  this  island  in  the  ocean. 

Take  this  town,  with  its  surroundings, — 

Its  ingenios,  plantations, 

(In-hane-yo  call  that  Spanish  word,) 

And  there's  one  not  very  distant : 

On  the  railroad  from  Cardenas, 

Which,  while  making  best  of  sugar, 

And  with  latest  of  improvements, 

Is  not  princely  in  dimensions 

Of  its  wealth  of  waving  cane-fields ; 

Nor  pretentious  in  machin'ry  ; 

Nor  has  territorial  grandeur, 

Nor  proud  stateliness  of  structure, 

Though  replete  with  every  comfort, 

And  with  claims  to  kindly  notice, 

'Twould  be  sinful  not  to  note  them, 

And  with  notes  of  admiration, 

At  the  pleasing  sights  appealing 

To  the  tenderest  moral  feelings. 


AN   INGENIO. 


Page  49. 


ISLE  OF  CUBA.  49 


When  we  speak  of  this  Cardenas, 
And  its  more  remote  surroundings, 
This  ingenio, — this  plantation, 
Must  not — shall  not,  be  omitted ; 
For  'tis  every  way  attractive, 
From  its  colonnade  of  palm-trees 
To  its  simplest  shrub  and  flower ; 
And  its  colonnade  of  palm-trees — 
Double  colonnade  of  palm-trees — 
Mark  an  avenue  of  beauty, 
Both  imperial  and  stately, 
That  extends  from  porch  to  cane-fields, 
Or,  from  garden-gate  to  cane-fields ; 
And  those  courtly,  royal  palm-trees 
Bow  a  welcome  from  their  green  tops — 
From  their  diadems  of  verdure — 
To  the  distant  guest  approaching ; 
And,  as  breezes  sigh  among  them, 
They  breathe  sighs  to  friends  departing ; 
Whisper  sighs  to  friends  departing ; 
While  their  branches,  by  their  waving, — 
Their    long,    sweeping,    plume-like 
branches, — 


5o  A   SONG   OF  THE 

Waft  adieus,  in  gentle  motions, 
With  a  pantomimic  meaning ; 
Which,  translated  into  language, 
Bids  them  come  again,  and  quickly, 
From  the  turmoils  of  the  city, 
To  forget  its  cares  and  heartaches, 
Amidst  sylvan  scenes  enchanting, 
And  'midst  friends  as  sympathizing 
As  true  hearts  can  well  desire. 

And  its  name  contains  a  moral, 
And  is  full  of  thought  suggestive 
Of  its  lineaments  attractive, 
In  detail  and  tout  ensemble  ; 
For  that  name  is,  briefly,  "  Eden," 
Though  'tis  "  Eden  Park,"  when  called  by 
Both  its  Christian  and  its  surname ; 
And  it  is  both  aptly  christened, 
For  its  grounds  and  for  its  mansion, 
Which  'midst  flowers  is  embedded, 
And  festooned  all  round  with  foliage  ; 
Making,  for  the  sight,  a  refuge 
That  allures,  relieves,  and  blesses, 
And  that,  'midst  its  wealth  of  colors, 
And  its  sweet  exhaling  odors, 
Offers  homes  to  joyous  song-birds, 
That,  enraptured,  build  their  nests  there, 
With  no  thought  of  horrid  rent-days  ; 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  5! 

With  no  dread  of  market  prices, 

And  no  fear  of  tax-collectors, 

And  no  care  for  long,  or  short,  crops. 

And  these  make  their  visitations 

Quite  perennial  in  season, 

Which  migration  never  troubles 

To  interrupt  their  sweet  housekeeping ; 

But  these,  nature's  prima  donnas, 

And  these  feathered  Campaninis, 

(Brighter  far  than  Queens  of  Sheba, 

Or  than  Solomon  in  his  glory,) 

Sing  their  songs  at  such  low  prices, 

And  without  a  single  false  note, — 

Caused  by  squabbling  or  sore  throats, — 

And  in  such  surpassing  voices, 

As  would  ruin  little  Patti ; 

Really  crush  Etelka  Gerster ; 

As  would  bankrupt  Christine  Nilsson, 

And  send  Lucca  to  a  mad-house ! 

Though  they'd  treble  these  bird-prices, 

Give  their  concerts  on  a  prairie, 

And  each  blade  of  grass  transformed  to 

An  unmitigated  dead-head  ! 

And  these  birds   that  make    their   nests 

there, 

And  their  friends  and  their  relations, 
And  their  trilling  social  circle, 


52  A   SONG   OF   THE 

Rise  up  early  in  the  morning 

From  their  alcoves  and  their  bowers, — 

Made  to  suit  their  bird-like  fancies, — 

And  they  fill  the  air  with  music, 

And  with  gladness  hail  the  sunrise  ; 

And  they  serenade  the  Hours, 

As,  in  blithe  or  sad  procession, 

They  glide,  outwards,  from  Time's  portals 

To  form  part  of  the  Eternal, 

And  be  thence  consolidated 

With  the  never-ending  future. 

'Tis  indeed  a  lovely  dwelling ; 
A  most  hospitable  mansion  ; 
The  abode  of  all  that's  graceful, 
That's  ingenuous  and  noble  ; 
That  is  modest,  that  is  truthful ; 
Where  the  .hostess  and  the  host  are 
So  spontaneous  in  goodness, 
That  the  thought  can't  be  improved  on, 
As  indicative  of  pleasure  ; 
And  'tis  still  more  apt  in  seeming 
When  the  daughter  of  these  parents — 
Of  the  host  and  modest  hostess — 
Adds  the  grace  of  her  good  nature 
To  the  welcome  so  expressive. 
'Tis  indeed  a  very  Eden  ; 
And  this  gentle  daughter's  presence — 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 

With  that  smile  that  so  becomes  her, 
And  her  graciousness  of  bearing, 
And  accomplishments  that  suit  her — 
Tends  to  change  its  earthly  features, 
Or,  at  least,  to  so  refine  them 
They  rise  in  simple  beauty, 
And  attain,  without  an  effort, 
An  ethereal  plane  above  them, 
As  conception's  beau  ideal. 

And  this  Eden  Park  ingenio, 
Like  plantations  more  extensive, 
Is  curtailed  of  fair  proportions 
In  the  sugar-grinding  process, 
And  deprived,  this  very  bad  year, 
Of  accustomed  compensations 
By  stagnated  sugar  market. 
Yet  it  has,  and  that  not  long  since, 
Shipped  a  thousand  of  its  hogsheads 
Of  the  very  best  of  sugar, 
And  proportionate  molasses, 
To  the  Philadelphia  merchants, 
To  refineries  in  New  York, 
And  to  other  U.  S.  markets ; 
So  'tis  apropos  to  call  it, 
"  Like  plantations  more  extensive," 
And  to  say  that  it  possesses, 
Like  plantations  of  more  acres, 
5* 


53 


A   SONG   OF  THE 


Very  ample  sugar-houses, 

Which,  all  through  the  grinding  season, 

Knows  no  rest,  nor  night  nor  morning, 

But  runs  tireless,  at  all  hours, 

With  the  latest  of  inventions. 


Take  this  town  with  its  surroundings, 
Which  are  mainly  its  plantations, 
With  elaborate  sugar-houses, 
Filled  with  latest  of  inventions, 
Costing  fortunes  to  erect  them, 
With  the  centrifugal  machines, 
Which  machines,  themselves,  are  studies, 
Whirling  madly  round  each  minute, 
With  much  method  in  their  madness, 
As  they  crystallize  the  sugar 
Three  thousand  solid  times  or  more ! 
Coming  mostly  from  the  Germans, 
(Though  the  Yankees  and  the  Frenchmen 
Have  their  similar  inventions,) 
Who  have  made  the  beet-root  sugar — 
Remolacha,  here,  is  beet-root — 
Such  a  formidable  rival 
To  all  sugars  of  the  known  world. 


ISLE  OF  CUBA. 


55 


And  the  eye  can  scarcely  see  it, 
See  the  whirl  of  this  machinery, 
As  it  forms  its  sharp-edged  crystals, 
And  with  planetary  motion  ; 
Beating  Ixion's  rapid  motion  ; 
Beating  locomotives  hollow, 
Till  they  scream  with  very  anger ; 
Till  they  get  their  water  boiling ; 
Till  they  whistle  in  their  anger, 
With  a  sharpness  that  is  painful : 
Scream  with  screams  that  are  alarming, 
In  a  steaming  perspiration, 
As  a  sign  they  are  defeated 
In  a  contest  with  young  giants  ! 

E'er  dismounting  from  steam-engines, 
After  riding  them  dead-headed, 
And  quite  closely  annotating 
How  they  modulate  their  voices ; 
We're  reminded,  by  those  voices, 
Of  some  animals  in  Cuba, 
Seldom  met  with  on  the  mainland : 


Of  a  large  rat,  like  the  'possum, 
(The  opossum,  strictly  speaking,) 
Only  larger  than  the  'possum, 


:- 6  A   SONG   OF  THE 

And  much  darker  than  the  'possum, — 

That's  the  darker,  that's  much  darker ; 

While  the  lighter  is  some  lighter ; 

Which  facts  prove  the  rat  descended, 

By  a  pedigree  most  ancient, 

From  a  tree  that  had  two  branches ; 

From  a  patriarchal  fam'ly 

That  produced  unequal  beauty 

In  its  rising  generation  ; 

Had  an  Esau,  in  complexion, 

And  a  fair-skinned,  smooth-faced  Jacob ; 

And  the  Esau,  in  complexion, 

Is  entitled  to  attention, 

And  to  absorbing  interest, 

For  a  most  eventful  hist'ry ; 

For  a  tail  unlike  most  rat-tails ! 

And  this  rat,  round  whose  horizon 

Heavy  clouds  and  tempests  lower, 

Is,  like  Esau,  very  hairy, — 

Much  more  hairy  than  the  'possum  ; 

And  one  kind,  'mongst  rocks  and  crannies 

Finds  its  meditative  mansions  ; 

And  another  lives  above-ground, 

'Mongst  the  trees,  and  in  their  branches ; 

Living  well  on  vegetation, 

Eating,  mostly,  vegetables, 

And,  by  Chinamen  and  negroes, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 

Is  considered  first-class  feeding, 

Fit  for  millionaires  and  princes, 

And  for  emperors  and  grand  dukes ; 

For  sultanas,  and  for  grand  Turks  ; 

And,  by  folks  well  educated, — 

(Who,  of  course,  are  wide  exceptions,) 

Some  who've  eaten  at  the  "Brunswick"; 

At  "  Delmonico's"  have  eaten, 

And  at  best  hotels  have  feasted, 

In  the  old  world  and  the  new  world, 

And  by  such — those  rare  exceptions — 

As  by  copper-colored  Chinese, 

And  the  "  contraband/'  so  greasy, — 

Is  appreciated  highly, 

As  a  thing  there's  no  deriding, 

But  as  fit  for  making  game  of, 

As  wild-duck,  or  quail,  or  red  deer. 

Just  like  Western  folks  and  Southern, 

In  our  land,  accept  the  'possum 

As  a  blessed  dispensation, 

When  adorned  with  sweet  potatoes, 

To  alleviate  the  craving 

Of  an  appetite  fastidious. 


57 


A   SONG   OF  THE 


"  Gods !    ye    gods !    must   we    endure 

this  ?" 

Caius  Cassius  seems  exclaiming 
To  the  noble  Marcus  Brutus  ; 
Who,  intent  on  fate  revolving, 
Notes  not  what  his  friend  is  saying ; 
Heeds  not  either  meat  or  pastry 
As  then  meet  to  be  considered ; 
Feels  dread  Philippi  approaching, 
As  a  "  pi"  there's  no  digesting, — 
As  a  "  pi"  that  makes  him  crusty, — 
Pointing  grimly  to  the  future  ; 
Pealing  out  funereal  dirges  ! 
"  Gods  !  ye  gods  !  must  we  endure  this  ?" 
Says  "  the  lean  and  hungry  Cassius," 
Hoping,  by  the  repetition, 
To  arouse  that  "  noblest  Roman" 
From  such  serious  abstraction 
'Mongst  the  stellar  luminaries  : 
"  Must  we  tolerate  this  treatment 
Of  the  precious  human  stomach ; 
Grandest  gift  by  Jove  invented ; 
Life's  approved  and  best  contraption 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


59 


To  make  steam  for  vital  motion  ? 
Feed  it  on  large  rats,  or  small  ones  ! 
Make  it  tomb  for  rank  opossums ! 
Rank  !  not  princely  rank,  nor  royal, 
Such  as  Caesar  dares  to  grasp  at, 
But  the  rank  that's  so  offensive 
To  all  nostrils  of  refinement 
That  they  curl  like  hair  in  papers, 
Or  like  bristles  o'er  a  fire, 
At  the  strong,  unwelcome  odor 
Of  the  brute  with  beastly  features ! 
Oh,  forbid  it,  dear  Lucullus ! 
Whose  guests  swallowed  pearls  in  wine- 
cups  ; 

Who  thought  nightingales,  that  furnished 
Tongues  and  nests  to  grace  his  table, 
Were  a  bon  douche  from  Olympus 
For  aesthetical  creation. 
And  forbid  it,  gentle  Sallust  ; 
Epicureans,  forbid  it ! 
Rise  in  might,  in  Rome  and  Athens, 
And  denounce  this  innovation 
As  revolting  and  barbaric, 
And  as  worse  than  death  or  Hades ! 
Rather,  Brutus,  my  soul's  brother! 
Rather  let  us  go  for  Caesar, 
In  the  Senate-house  or  Forum  ! 


6o  A   SONG    OF  THE 

Let  us  fall  'midst  freedom's  ruins, 
Or  save  Rome  from  tyrant's  thraldom, 
And  then  live  in  pomp,  like  Pompey, 
Ere  he  met  with  his  Pharsalia  ; 
Ere  he  fell  as  Caesar's  victim !" 

Thus  might  Caius  Cassius  orate, 
And  the  classic  Greeks  and  Romans 
Would  applaud  him  to  the  echo ; 
As  would  Uncle  Sam's  young  eaglets, — 
Thinking,  to  intent  and  purpose, 
It  was  Independence  logic, 
Borne  on  wings  of  the  spread-eagle  ; 
Served  up  with  display  of  rockets 
As  a  July  Fourth  oration. 
And  those  fledglings  of  the  old  bird 
Would  take  Cassius  on  their  shoulders, 
With  three  cheers,  and  then  a  tiger ; 
Send  him  off,  perhaps  to  Congress, 
Or  in  search  of  Sir  John  Franklin 
And  a  northern  polar  ocean  ; 
And  they'd  look  with  sneers  and  scowling, 
And  send  eggs,  perhaps  not  fresh  ones, 
At  the  poor  rat  so  bedevilled 
By  that  most  indignant  Roman  ; 
While  the  poor  rat,  he  can't  help  it, 
If  appearance  is  against  him ; 
Which,  in  fact,  there's  no  denying: 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  fa 

For  this  rat  is  not  inviting, 

Any  more  than  the  opossum  ; 

Has  no  prepossessing  feature  ; 

Has  not  e'en  a  spark  of  beauty, 

Or  a  name  that  is  attractive. 

And  its  name,  in  Spanish  language, 

Is  Jutea,  but  the  "  J  "  has 

Aspiration  like  the  "  H's," 

So  the  name's  pronounced  Hu-te-a  ; 

And  the  animal  is  often 

Caught,  and  tamed,  and  kept  in  houses, 

As,  with  us,  the  dogs  and  cats  are  ; 

And  behaves,  then,  quite  genteelly 

To  domestics  and  the  children  ; 

But  it  shakes  with  trepidation 


When  its  mortal  foe  approaches  ; 
And  that  mortal  foe  is  saintly, 
Or,  at  least,  it  has  a  saint's  name, 
Or  a  name  a  little  higher, 
And,  indeed,  a  great  deal  higher  : 
As  the  Church,  in  its  discretion, 
Classifies  by  sacred  sanction 
All  the  ranks  of  those  promoted 


62  A   SONG   OF  THE 

To  be  canonized  perfections ; 

For  they  call  it  Holy  Mary, 

When  translated  into  English, 

Which  is  strange,  and  is  perplexing, 

For  this  saint  is  but  a  serpent, 

Though  a  serpent  large  as  Satan, 

When  he  first  assumed  that  habit. 

It  has  sometimes  length  to  twelve  feet, ' 

And  is  thick  as  brig's  "  fore-top-mast," 

Or,  to  speak,  and  be  within  bounds, 

As  the  staff  for  a  ship's  "  royal," 

Or  the  pole  for  a  ship's  "  skysail," — 

Call  it,  just  for  short,  six  inches  : 

Yet  without  the  slightest  venom  ; 

Which,  indeed,  is  not  peculiar 

On  this  very  fertile  island, 

Where  no  snake  nor  insect's  deadly, 

Though  there  are  some  agonizing, 

And  without  a  touch  of  conscience, 

And  are  worse  than  worst  of  Shylocks, 

And  would  heed  not  Portia's  pleading 

Any  more  than  that  old  Jew  did. 

They'd  ne'er  pause  to  weigh  out  scruples, 

But  in  drams  would  drink  the  warm  blood 

To  the  last  drop  they  could  swallow ! 

Thus  'tis  not  at  all  surprising 

That  this  serpent  has  no  venom, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  < 

Though  it  has  abundant  muscle  ; 
And  it  travels  on  that  muscle, 
Like  the  shoulder-striking  gentry, 
Who  deride  great  Cardinal  Richelieu, 
When  he  says — per  Lytton  Bulwer — 
That  the  pen  is  more  potential 
Than  the  sword  of  Cceur  de  Lion, 
Or  the  fist  of  Sayres,  or  Heenan  ! 

And  this  snake — this  Holy  Mary — 
(And  the  males  are  called,  here,  Mary, 
Just  as  freely  as  are  ladies,) 
Is  domesticated,  likewise, 
And  is  quite  a  gentle  plaything 
As  a  licensed  household  member; 
And  'tis  kept  near  barn  or  corn-crib, 
Or  near  place  where  grain  is  garnered, 
As  a  guard  'gainst  rats  and  vermin, 
Which  abscond,  sans  ceremonie 
When  his  saintship's  reign  commences ; 
And  they'll  tempt  all  kinds  of  danger 
Rather  than  provoke  his  Highness, 
By  a  toss  of  heads  or  tails  up  ! 


64  A   SONG   OF  THE 


Now  these  animals  just  mentioned — 
The  large  snake  and  the  Ju-te-a — 
Sometimes  meet  on  the  dead  level, 
Or  Ju-te-a  s  up  on  tree-branch, 
And  when  spied  by  Holy  Mary, 
(Santa  Marias  the  right  name, 
With  elmajd  for  a  prefix,) 
Feels  condemned  by  judge  and  jury 
To  a  speedy  execution. 
Backing  off  from  Holy  Mary, 
It  starts  slowly  to  retreating ; 
Glancing  at  his  saintly  snakeship 
With  a  glance  of  speechless  horror ; 
While  each  hair  its  hide  has  rooted, 
Makes  a  start,  in  single  harness, 
Like  the  quills  of  ghostly  mention, 
Of  the  porcupine  persuasion. 

Thus  retreating,  thus  pursuing, 
Rat  and  snake  keep  on  ascending ; 
And  the  snake  the  while  keeps  breathing 
A  deep  breath,  as  from  steam-boiler 
When  a  locomotive's  starting ; 
And  the  rat  seems  vainly  calling 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  £r 

Upon  all  the  hills  to  hide  him ! 

Shrinking,  in  the  hopes  of  reaching 

Such  invisible  proportions 

As  to  foil  the  patient  progress 

Of  the  fate  that  knows  not  mercy. 

Vain  !  oh,  vain,  those  hopes  of  weakness  ! 

Power,  unrestrained  by  reason, 

Or  not  tempered  by  religion, 

Is  the  same  in  brutes  and  mankind : 

Riots  in  unbridled  license, 

Seeks  alone  its  selfish  pleasures, 

And  is  deaf  to  mercy's  pleadings. 

Higher  still  ascends  Ju-te-a, 
And  the  snake  coils  slowly  higher, 
Till  the  supple  branches  bending, 
As  they  reach  the  open  azure, 
Point  the  way  to  death  from  danger, 
Or  announce  a  deadly  conflict, 
Which  requires  more  nerve-power 
Than  Ju-te-a  is  possessed  of, 
As  he  looks  aloft  with  yearning — 
Straining  out  his  very  heart-strings  — 
To  discover  faintest  trace  of 
Doubtful  passage  tending  higher. 
Naught  the  quadruped  observes  there  ; 
Naught  of  life,  or  hope,  is  present ; 
Only  dull  and  solid  clouds  there ; 


66  A   SONG    OF  THE 

Not  a  cloud  with  silver  lining  ! 

Not  a  footing  e'en  for  fairy  ! 

Only  room  to  breast  the  ether 

On  the  wings  of  bird  or  angel. 

At  a  glance  the  tale  is  all  told, 

And  a  flash  reveals  the  story, 

That  hope's  fabric's  dashed  to  atoms  ; 

That  behind,  and  not  before  him, 

May  be  found  regeneration, 

Which,  from  hopes  so  badly  shattered, 

Must  shoot  forth  from  desperation. 


One  sad  glance  of  mournful  pleading, 
Backward  turned  on  foe  advancing, 
Fails  to  wake  response  remorseful,  — 
Falls  like  dew-drops  on  flint  surface, 
When,  with  look  to  heaven  appealing, 
Leaps  he  downward  to  the  hard  earth  ! 
Hard  !  but  softer  than  the  serpent  ; 
Hard  !  but  bountiful  with  promise  ; 
For  the  earth  is  a  last  refuge. 
Nurtures  all  through  each  day's  changes  ; 
Ne'er  forgets  she  is  the  mother 
Of  all  animated  nature. 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


67 


Downward  !  downward  !  falls  Ju-te-a, 
With  velocity  increasing. 
Downward !    downward !    will    he    get 

there  ? 

Will  he  strike  the  earth  and  perish  ? 
Will  he  gather  nerve  and  strength  by 
Contact  with  creation's  mother? — 
Like  the  giant  who  subdued  was 
By  Herculean  wit  and  muscle, 
Holding  him  aloft  till  strangled, — 
Till  salt  water  could  not  save  him  I 
Will  he  do  the  one,  or  other? 
Or  rebound,  and  flee  for  dear  life, 
With  a  speed  there's  no  o'ertaking? 
Such  the  rapid  thoughts  he's  thinking, 
If  he  thinks  while  he's  falling, 
Of  which  horn  of  a  dilemma 
Waits  Mahris  elucidation. 
But  his  object  is  frustrated 
When  it  seems  almost  accomplished ; 
For  he  fails  to  reach  earth  contact, 
Save  as  coiled  in  snake's  embraces ; 
As  a  treasure  earned  by  labor, 
And  secured  beyond  redemption, 
By  example  fable  taught  him, 
Of  the  giant  and  his  victor. 
Thus  the  snake  divines  his  object, 


63  A   SONG    OF  THE 

Times  his  motions  to  frustrate  it, 
And  he  springs  as  leaps  Ju-te-a, 
Coils  around  him  in  the  mid-air, 
And  he  shrieks,  or  seems  to  shriek  out, 
While  they  fall  thus  linked  together : 
"  In  hoc  signo,  dear  Ju-te-a, 
Read  the  future  that's  before  you  ; 
Meet  the  fate  there  is  no  shunning 
Boldly,  like  a  dauntless  rodent ; 
Like  a  rat  in  wholesale  business ; 
Like  a  rat  there's  no  retailing, 
When  he's  folded  to  this  bosom, 
As  he  glides  to  deglutition !" 

Leaving  now  the  snake  digesting 
Poor  Ju-te-a  at  his  leisure, 
While  he  murmurs,  as  he  dozes, 
A  "  hie  jacet"  for  his  tombstone, 
With  a  schedule  of  such  virtues 
Such  as  the  rats  of  all  degrees  will 
Ratify  with  prompt  approval, 
Let  us  turn  to  other  subjects ; 
Not  so  thrilling  as  Jutea  s, — 
Not  so  harrowing  to  feelings ; 
Themes  that  soothe  excited  bosoms, 
Hush  to  rest  e'en  raging  tempests, 
Fall  like  oil  on  troubled  waters, 
Captivate  like  soft  church  music. 


ISLE  OF  CUBA. 

Leaving  ancient  locomotives 
With  their  progeny  centrifugal, 
And  with  stationary  engines, 
To  hobnob  in  friendly  converse 
About  crops  and  of  the  weather, 
And  depreciated  prices  ; 


Cast  your  eye  towards  these  churches, 
These  deposits  of  salvation, 
Which  can't  save  their  architecture 
From  severest  condemnation. 
These  dull,  heavy-looking  chapels, 
With  their  frightful  darksome  towers, 
More  antique  than  Babel's  towers, 
Looking  much,  in  grim  expression, 
Like  old  Babel's  ancient  parents  : 
Speaking,  too,  the  Babel  language  ; 
That's  a  jargon  so  discordant 
That  it  sets  the  teeth  to  aching, 
And  perverts  all  sense  and  reason. 
Oh,  those  frightful-looking  towers  ! 
Oh,  those  most  ungraceful  towers  ! 
How  can  grace  find  entrance  in  them  ? 
How  can  grace  accept  such  lodgment  ? 


A   SONG   OF  THE 


Which  would  make  grace  seem  disgraceful 
Were  it  not  for  gracious  doctrine 
That  once  slumbered  in  a  manger, 
And  regards  not  where  it  dwelleth. 


Oh,  those  inharmonious  bells ! 
Stricken  by  mischievous  urchins, 
Who  do  almost  all  the  striking, 
With  a  viciousness  peculiar 
To  purgatorial  spirits, 
Or  to  spirits  in  a  worse  place ; 
Crying  loudly  for  some  water ; 
Jangling  bells  for  cups  of  water ; 
Hoarsely  yelling  for  some  water ; 
Just  for  drops  of  limpid  water, 
Like  refreshing  dews  to  fall  on 
Their  poor  tongues  so  dry  and  heated ! 

'Twas  Poe  composed  the  poetry 
About  whole  families  of  bells : 
About  fire,  marriage,  chapel  bells, 
Of  many  sizes  and  degrees ; 
But  had  Poe  heard  these  Cuban  bells, 


ISLE  OF  CUBA. 


7 


Like  those  Ophelia  talks  about, — 

"  So  jangled,  out  of  tune  and  harsh," — 

His  bells  !  his  bells  !  his  favorite  bells, 

Had  never  found  a  poet  then ; 

They  would  have  strangled  all  his  thoughts, 

E'en  in  imagination's  womb ! 

He  would,  in  frantic  agony, 

Have  found  a  heavy  dtuing-\x\\t 

And  sunk  in  that  to  rise  no  more ! 

And  so,  alas  !  those  other  bells : 

His  extra  sweet, — his  blessed  bells  ! 

Would  ne'er  have  uttered  welcome  chimes, 

Or  any  tones  to  greet  the  ear ; 

They  would  have  been  as  mute  as  fish ; 

They  would  have  been,  indeed,  dumb-bells  ! 


If  still  further  you  should  ask  me, 
Saying,  Where  is  this  Cardenas  ? 
Tell  us  quickly  of  this  city? 
I  should  answer  your  impatience 
On  a  geographic  subject 
With  a  consciousness  of  knowledge 
That  should  claim  your  admiration  ; 
And  would  lead  you,  by  induction, 


72  A   SONG   OF  THE 

Up  a  geographic  stairway, 

In  such  simple  words  as  follow, 

To  the  chart-room  of  the  brain-pan. 

On  the  northern  coast  of  Cuba, 
Nearly  south  from  well-known  Key  West, 
Scarcely  fourscore  miles  'tis  distant ; 
And  is  reached  by  sailing-vessels, 
And  by  steamships  from  all  places  ; 
But  'tis  pleasantest  to  travel 
In  the  semi-weekly  steamers, 
In  the  lines  now  well  established, 
Between  Havana  and  New  York. 
Only  fourscore  miles  'tis  distant, 
When  'tis  measured  in  a  straight  line, 
With  its  twenty  thousand  people, 
Sitting  on  its  bay  capacious, 
With  its  many  tiburones, — 
Which  means  sharks,  of  several  classes, — 
May  be  seen  this  same  Cardenas ; 
With  its  wind-mills  for  the  pumping 
Of  much  sugar-house  molasses  ; 
With  its  almacens  for  storing 
That  same  sugar-house  molasses  ; 
With  its  tanks,  like  schools  for  swimming, 
(That's  for  very  fancy  swimming,) 
Filled  with  sugar-house  molasses, 
Which  is  run  through  hose,  like  water, 


ISLE  OF  CUBA. 

When  they  fill  the  hogsheads  with  it ; 
When  they  load  molasses  vessels. 
And,  besides,  Cardenas  boasts  of 
Its  refinery  for  sugar, — 
Only  one  on  the  whole  island, — 
That  has  just  been  proved  successful : 
Making  sugar  sweet  and  snow-white, 
Both  in  cubes  and  powdered  finely, 
Which  the  Cardenese  are  proud  of, 
As  a  proof  they're  up  and  doing, 
And  can  follow  in  the  footsteps 
Of  the  enterprising  Yankees, 
Who  they  like  to  keep  before  them 
As  the  very  best  of  models. 
And  they  dream,  with  eyes  wide  open, 
They  may  emulate  their  model ; 
They  may  help  their  race  to  reach  up 
To  a  pinnacle  of  grandeur, 
To  its  highest  human  standard. 

With  its  railroads  and  its  depot, 
Built  of  stone,  and  very  solid  ; 
With  its  long  wharves  in  the  harbor, 
Stretched  on  piles,  and  thus  recalling 
The  flush  times  of  San  Francisco, 
When  that  golden-gated  city, 
Had  its  "  Long  Wharf"  in  the  water, 
And  its  sand-hills,  whose  removal 


74 


A    SONG   OF  THE 


Was  a  monument  of  labor, 

Such  as  filled  the  world  with  wonder ; 

And,  since  then,  has  been  considered, 

Like  the  Pyramids'  construction, 

Such  miraculous  achievements 

As  to  challenge  competition. 

Now  this  island  is  so  near  us 
That  Cardenas  seems  a  neighbor  ; 
This  identical  Cardenas, 
With  its  Long  Branch, —  Varadero, 
That  has  sprung  up  at  its  bidding, 
Just  across  its  bay  extensive, 
And  looks  out  upon  the  ocean, 
Which,  with  all  its  waves  majestic, 
Waves  all  frivolous  objections, 
And  consents,  with  condescension, 
To  play  a  sort  of  second  fiddle, — 
That  its  surf  shall  be  the  adjunct 
To  resort  for  summer  bathing, 
Where  .the  upper  crust  build  dwellings, 
And  the  cream  of  creams  assemble, 
Ere  the  storm-king  sends  his  cyclones 
To  disperse  the  dread  jejenas, — 
Call  this,  if  you  please,  hay-hen-as, — 
Which  is  but  the  beastly  sand-fly, 
And  to  wrestle  with  the  pulgas. 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


75 


And  to  wrestle  with  the  pulgas  ! 
Yes  ;  that  means  to  be  flea-bitten  : 
For  the  pulgas  are  the  flea-bugs, 
And  the  foot,  and  back,  and  knee-bugs ; 
While  mosquitoes  are  the  humbugs, 
And,  like  troubadours  of  old, 
Sing  the  songs  of  the  knights-errant — 
Many  songs  of  many  nations — 
While  they  thrust  their  lances  in  us, 
And  make  their  bills  their  billet-doux  ; 
And  are  strangely  confidential ; 
Bringing  music  for  the  million, 
"  Like  a  leperous  distilment," 
To  the  portals  of  one's  hearing ; 
As  if  there  they'd  make  the  lodgment 
Of  a  secret  they  have  carried 
Since  the  world  was  draped  in  darkness, 
Like  the  Wand'ring  Jew  about  them, 
With  much  serious  discomfort, 
Which  they  fain  would  be  released  from  ! 
Ah  !  those  fleas  !  they  are  too  lively ; 
And  such  treacherous  companions  ! 
Their  best  friends  are  unsafe  with  them, 


7  6  A   SONG   OF  THE 

Though,  indeed,  they  have  no  good  friends  : 
So,  of  course,  can  have  no  best  friends  ; 
No,  not  e'en  among  the  puppies  ; 
Neither  those  of  two  nor  four  feet. 
They  are  Ishmrflites,  in  action  ; 
And  maliciously  assail  all, 
Without  sparing  youth  or  beauty, 
And  are  Danites  in  religion, 
Without  touch  of  gentle  pity  ; 
Without  care  for  a  hereafter  ; 
Without  fear  of  wrath  consuming, 
Which  they  will  nor  jump,  nor  faa  from  ! 
They're  incurable  back-biters, 
And  they  scandalize  us  greatly, 
And  they  make  us  seem  ungraceful, 
As  they  amble  o'er  our  bodies  ; 
Vault,  like  imps,  across  our  bodies  ; 
Practise  tactics  on  our  bodies  ; 
Make  our  limbs  their  little  play-grounds, 
And  they  patrol  our  curving  spines  ! 


Now,  patrols  may  be  bewitching, 
When  we  hear  them  set  to  music, 
And  played  by  orchestra  or  band  ; 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


77 


Or  e'en  touched  on  the  piano  ; 

Or  the  violin  or  cornet ; 

Or  the  hautboy  or  the  saxhorn ; 

Or  the  flageolet  or  jew's-harp  ! 

There's  the  sweet  patrol  of  Turkey, 

And  there's  the  Russian  grand  patrol ; 

But  when  that  one,  of  Ireland, 

Is  played  by  Gilmore  and  his  band, 

It  ravishes  all  Irish  ears, 

That  wildly  love  its  souvenirs, 

Which  start  alternate  smiles  and  tears, 

And  wake  enthusiastic  cheers 

From  souls'  appreciative  founts  ! 

This  tells  the  tale  that's  often  told, 

Of  music  to  most  nations  dear ; 

But  where  the  Cuban  flea  patrols, 

By  day  and  night  the  human  spine, 

And  takes  its  sportive  exercise 

Upon  the  human  form  divine, 

Or  crawls  upon  the  creeping  flesh, — 

It  corkscrews  anything  but  smiles 

To  decorate  the  human  face, 

Or  Grecian  bends  to  mould  the  form  ! 

There's  then  no  "music  in  the  air," 

Save  ut' ranees  that  rise  to  lip 

Which  ne'er  could  dignify  a  verse, 

Or  softly  soothe  a  lady's  ear  ! 


A   SONG    OF  THE 


tta  <£ne 


am. 


Ye,  who  love  this  royal  island  ; 
Love  this  Queen  of  the  Antilles  ; 
This  bright  diamond  of  first  water ; 
This  Caribbean  Kohinoor; 
Ye,  who  ask  me  for  my  legends, 
Ask  me  for  my  information, 
And  the  sources  that  it  comes  from, 
And  insist  these  shall  be  mentioned, 
And  in  every  minute  detail, 
From  the  Alpha  to  Omega, 
But  won't  have  these  legends  meagre, 
Not  by  gentlest  of  persuasion  ; 
Once  more  listen,  and  I'll  tell  you  ; 
Tell  you  where  the  legends  come  from ; 
Yes,  in  all  their  virgin  beauty, 
And  in  their  adult  vigor ; 
In  their  age's  tribulation, 
And  in  all  their  strength  and  weakness, 
From  their  Alpha  to  Omega, 
You  shall  have  them  though  they  kill  you, 
With  a  mirth-provoking  torrent, 
Or  a  cataract  of  sadness  ! 

And  they  come — and  be  this  noted 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


79 


In  the  album  of  the  mem'ry, 

Or  on  mental  marble  tablet, 

In  imperishable  letters, 

To  which,  always  when  you  wish  it, 

You  can  have  familiar  access, — 

From  'mongst  Caballeros  gracious, 

And  redundantly  loquacious ; 

So  redundantly  loquacious 

That  the  eyes,  and  hands,  and  fingers 

Aid  the  lips  and  all  the  features 

With  a  language  each  possesses ; 

With  such  fluency  of  language 

As  convinces  every  stranger 

That,  in  conversation' s  market, 

In  the  misty  life  in  Eden, 

All  the  Spaniards  were  up  early, 

And  they  beared  the  Eden  market, 

And  they  cornered  all  the  talk  there, 

Leaving  only  odds  and  ends  for 

Other  people,  who  were  thus  forced 

To  a  taciturn  condition, 

And  to  eke  out  want  of  words  with 

An  appearance  of  some  thinking ; 

To  supply  a  wordy  torrent 

By  a  draft  on  mind's  resources  ; 

By  a  process  of  distilling, 

Through  a  serpentine  alembic, 


80  A   SONG    OF  THE 

Often  slow,  and  always  labored, 
And  which  rarely  is  as  showy 
As  spontaneous  discoursing, 
That  from  aptest  fluent  tongues  fall 
Like  the  pattering  of  rain-drops, 
Or  the  rapids  of  Niagara. 


And  they  come  —  these  very  legends- 
From  the  land  of  such  politeness, 
And  exhaustless  benefactions, 
That  the  natives  and  the  Spaniards, 
(Though  they  lead  a  cat-and-dog  life, 
As  they  jog  along  together, 
In  their  island-home  relations) 
Are  a  unit  on  this  subject, 
And  alike  as  any  two  peas, 
Or  pomegranates,  or  pine-apples  : 
And  they  offer  you  their  houses  ; 
Freely  offer  you  their  houses, 
With  an  air  of  whole-soul  meaning  ; 
But  don't  tender  formal  titles, 
And  don't  warranty  those  titles  ; 
Not  e'en  quit-claim  deeds  will  tender  ; 
But  still  offer  you  their  houses, 


ISLE  OF  CUBA.  § 

And  their  horses  and  their  coaches, 

And  their  watches  and  their  breastpins, 

And  their  rings  and  all  their  trinkets, 

Save  their  darling  household  jewels, 

Such  as  wife  and  noisy  children, 

Which  are  deemed  somewhat  exclusive ; 

But,  with  all  things  else,  besides  these, 

They  are  lib'ral  to  profusion  ; 

And  on  merest  introduction, 

They  will  make  the  verbal  tender. 

Yet,  'tis  safest  to  regard  this 

As  a  very  tender  tender, 

And  not  as  a  legal  tender, 

Or  as  greenback  circulation, 

But  as  compliment  Castilian, 

Which  is  high-flown  in  construction, 

And  alloyed  with  some  base  metal, 

And  won't  stand  the  application 

Of  the  crucible  and  blow-pipe, 

And  severest  kinds  of  acids  ; 

So,  to  save  extreme  surprises, 

To  both  parties  to  such  offers, 

'Tis  the  best  to  disregard  them  ; 

Or  regard  them  as  lip  service, 

As  a  sort  of  spurious  coinage, 

Which  is  current  by  long  usage, 

For  which  change  is  manufactured 


82  A   SONG   OF  THE 

By  the  cheapest  kind  of  process 
For  the  needs  of  present  service, 
And  in  lots  to  suit  consumers. 


This  is  said  cum  grano  salis, 
For  we  should  not  misconstrue  this 
As  a  case  of  false  pretences ; 
For  the  spirit  that  suggests  it, 
This  exuberant  donating, 
Without  rhyme,  and  not  much  reason, 
Is  a  real  kindly  spirit 
That  we  find  among  our  kindred, 
And  we  see,  likewise,  in  England, 
Only  that,  with  us,  our  language — 
When  we  compliment  our  neighbors — • 
Is  devoid  of  tropes  and  figures, 
And  is  dressed  in  only  plain  clothes  ; 
While  our  friends  of  Spain  and  Cuba, 
When  their  lips  pronounce  a  welcome, 
Make  that  welcome  ornamental ; 
And  they  exercise  their  fancies 
In  the  Oriental  fashion, — 
Which  prevailed  once  in  Grenada, — 
And  they  clothe  their  words  in  costumes 


ISLE  OF  CUBA.  g^ 

Made  of  purple  and  fine  linen, 
Trimmed  with  lace,  and  cords  and  tassels, 
And  with  gold  and  silver  spangles, 
With  rosettes  and  many  ribbons  ! 
But  their  words,  without   these   trim 
mings, — 

These  gauds  for  side-  and  foot-lights, — 
Might  be  rendered  in  plain  English 
As, — "  I'm  very  glad  to  know  you. 
Won't  you  take  your  dinner  with  us, 
Any  time  when  you  feel  like  it, 
En  famille, — just  with  the  home-folks  ? 
If  you  like  the  evening  better, 
Come  around  on  any  evening ; 
You'll  find  tea  upon  the  table, 
With,  perhaps,  some  toast  or  muffins, 
And  some  light  thing  appetizing, 
And  a  plate,  and  knife  and  fork  there, 
And,  besides,  a  hearty  welcome.  " 
This  is  all  that  makes  the  difference 
'Twixt  a  style  extremely  florid 
And  vernacular — in  homespun. 


84 


A  SONG   OF  THE 


on 


From  the  land  of  many  gestures, 
Where  the  hand  speaks  its  own  language, 
Aiding  much  the  mobile  features  ; 
Illustrating  every  sentence 
That  the  tongue  attempts  to  utter  ; 
Even  words  elucidating 
From  complex  ideal  shadows, 
Making  thinkings  photographic  ; 
Making  pantomime  as  graphic 
As  e'er  Harlequin  attempted, 
Or  as  Columbine  could  answer. 
And  the  hand  is  educated 
By  the  tender  care  of  mothers, 
Ere  the  lispings  of  the  cradle 
Know  articulate  formations  ; 
And  the  babes  that  can't  say  "  mamma," 
Or  that  can't  cry  "  papaito  /" 
With  their  little  hands  and  fingers 
Will  give  peremptory  orders, 
And  express  their  little  wishes, 
And  don  airs  of  older  people, 


ISLE  OF  CUBA.  85 


In  a  style  that's  quite  amusing  ; 
In  a  way  there's  no  mistaking. 


From  the  land  of  single  young  men, 
Where  the  clerks  pick  up  their  bedding 
As  they  change  their  situations, 
As  they  walk,  and  with  much  faith  in 
Getting  other  situations, 
Or  of  doing  their  own  washing, 
Or  of  doing  Chinese  laundries, 
And  of  feeding  empty  stomachs 
At  dilapidated  tables 
Of  the  cheapest  boarding-houses, 
With  dim  hopes  of  future  earnings  : 
That's  when  out  of  situations  ; 
For,  when  blessed  with  situations, 
They  oft  eat  with  their  employers 
In  a  style  that  needs  no  primping,  — 
In  an  undershirt  and  slippers, 
And  a  pair  of  dirty  trousers, 
Or  of  pantaloons  most  hole-y, 
Kept  in  place  by  leathern  girdle, 
(For  suspenders,  here,  are  mystic,) 
And  at  a  general  table, 


86  ^   SOIVG    OF  THE 

Where    no    female    form    glides    toward 

them ; 

Where  not  e'en  a  paltry  hoop-skirt 
Can  claim  idolizing  fondness, 
Or  a  graceful,  rounded  bustle 
Smiles  bewitchingly  upon  them 
From  a  peg,  or  from  a  chair-back. 
And  they  take  those  meals  so  churlish, 
Without  glimpse  of  aught  that's  girlish, 
At  quite  fashionable  hours  : 
Eating  breakfast  at  eleven, 
Whether  they  are  low  or  high  ton; 
And  they  dine  from  five  to  seven : 
At  some  time  between  those  hours ; 
While  the  upper  crust  have  dinner 
Never  earlier  than  seven, 
And,  sometimes,  a  little  later, 
When  occasion  is  more  formal. 
So  the  stomach  here,  as  elsewhere, 
Is  a  Nihilist  or  noble 
From  the  hours  it  has  meals  served, 
Or  the  food  that  it  is  fed  with ; 
And  may  be  potentate  contented 
When  it  waits  not  long  at  meal-times, 
Or  be  deepest  dyed  of  rebels 
When  'tis  famishing  with  hunger ! 
Thus  the  problem  of  the  present, 


ISLE  OF  CUBA.  ^ 

And  the  issue  of  the  future, 
Is  intestinal  in  feature, 
Internecine  in  proportions, 
And  abdominal  in  nature ; 
And  it  must  be  met  by  wisdom, 
And  be  solved  by  compromises, 
And  by  mutual  forbearance. 

From  the  land  of  church  processions, 
Which  recur  on  stated  Saints'  days, — 
On  Saint  John's  and  Good-Fridays, 
And  Corpus  Chrisli  likewise  ; 
And  are  frequent  in  recurring, 
And  are  led  by  holy  padres 
In  their  vestments  of  the  altar, 
Which,  in  richness,  are  imposing, 
And  which  seem  to  make  assertion 
Of  a  Church  that  feels  triumphant ; 
And  the  rest  of  the  procession 
Is  made  up  of  all  officials 
In  insignia  of  office, 
And  of  troops  and  bands  of  music, 
Playing  martial  airs  in  slow  time, 
And  by  many  pious  people ; 
But,  of  late,  these  church  processions 
Have  been  captured  by  the  negroes 
By  majority  tremendous ! 
And  they  are  the  strongest  feature, 


88  A   SONG   OF  THE 

And  they  are  the  darkest  feature, 

Though  they  carry  lighted  candles 

In  unlimited  profusion, 

And  bear  lamps  with  shades  of  glassware, 

As  the  shades  of  evening  gather, 

And  as  day  folds  up  its  pinions. 

Now,  why  should  not  these  negroes 
Have  their  good  time  in  processions  ? 
Feel  themselves  become  important 
As  supporters  of  salvation, 
And  as  lighting  up  the  pathway, 
With  a  very  solid  lighting, 
To  a  purer  world  and  better? 
While  'tis  true  they  are  not  conscious 
Of  the  metaphors  they  carry, 
Or  of  allegoric  meanings 
Of  the  facts  they  see  around  them, 
There  is  that  about  those  facts  which 
Leads  them  from  primeval  darkness  : 
Guides  their  stumbling  feet  toward  stair 
way — 

Like  the  ladder  Jacob  dreamed  of — 
Leading  from  dull  earth  to  heaven  ; 
Linking  time  with  things  eternal. 
And  if  they — in  right  direction — 
Have  their  groping  footsteps  guided, 
They'll  at  last  secure  a  pathway 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  89 

That  is  not  so  labyrinthine,  — 

That  becomes  less  rough  and  rugged, 

As  they  journey  toward  the  eastward, 

With  each  step  of  their  advancement, 

And  the  further  they  explore  it. 

And,  in  final  day  of  judgment, 

Of  a  figurative  meaning, 

These  same  goats,  or  very  black  sheep, 

May  have  waded  through  the  waters  ; 

May   have   passed    through   streams   of 

knowledge, 

And  be  bleached  to  snowy  whiteness  ; 
May  be  lambs,  and  without  blemish  ! 


aitA: 

From  the  land  of  many  Saints'  days,  — 
From   the   land   so  blessed  with  Saints' 

days, 

That  the  child  who  has  no  Saints'  clay 
Is  no  better  than  poor  white  trash, 
And  not  half  as  good  as  black  trash, 
And  in  hardest  kind  of  weather. 
Is  that  ancient  bird,  the  Phoenix, 
That  was  fired  up,  in  fable, 
From  its  own  unburied  ashes, 

8* 


A   SONG   OF  THE 

And  that,  in  its  resurrection, 

Has  oft  done  the  world  much  service, 

Through  the  arches  of  the  ages, 

In  a  metaphoric  fashion  ; 

And  is  ready,  at  short  notice, 

To  aid  any  flight  of  fancy 

Of  an  orator  in  trouble. 

Is  like  child  without  a  mother, 

That  came  sliding  down  a  rainbow, 

Or,  by  post,  on  zigzag  lightning, 

Shaking  earth  e'en  to  its  centre. 

Is  like  one  who,  being  smitten, — 

By  a  blow  swung  from  the  shoulder, — 

With  much  philanthropic  smiling, 

With  much  suaviter  in  mo  do, 

Turns  his  cheek  to  his  assailant, 

And  requests  a  repetition 

Of  the  punishment  inflicted ! 

And,  in  fact,  to  end  the  matter, 

Is  like  sounds  that  make  no  echoes, 

And  like  sights  no  eye  has  e'er  seen, 

And  like  words  no  tongue  has  uttered, 

Is  a  thing  that  ne'er  existed 

Since  this  island  has  been  saintly, 

With  the  number  of  its  Saints'  days. 


ISLE  OF  CUBA. 


And  'tis  not  inapt  to  mention, 
As  post  scriptem  to  the  Saints'  days, 
And  remarks  on  church  processions, 
That  the  custom  with  the  dead  here 
Is,  in  general,  very  Cuban  ; 
Though,  in  some  things,  European  : 
As  permitted  non-attendance 
Of  the  family  at  fun'rals, — 
Of  all  woman-kind  at  fun'rals, — 
Which  is  better  than  to  harrow 
Hearts  already  torn  with  anguish, 
From  the  dwelling  to  the  heaping 
Of  the  hillock  on  the  coffin  ; 
To  the  torture  of  the  living ; 
To  the  crucifying  feelings, 
And  with  no  sufficient  reason. 
This  is  certainly  a  long  step, 
And  a  step  in  right  direction ; 
But  when  male  friends  follow  coffins, 
And  in  loquacious  groupings, 
Without  any  kind  of  order, — 
That's  a  step  that's  retrogressive, 
And  it  seems  a  little  startling ; 


92  A   SOi\'G    OF   THE 

Yet  'tis  custom  of  the  country ; 

And,  besides,  to  carry  coffins 

On  the  shoulders  of  the  male  friends, 

Quite  a  distance  from  the  dwelling, 

Amidst  heat  and  dust  oppressive, 

To  be  hearsed,  at  last,  and  driven 

To  the  grave-yard  in  the  suburbs, 

In  a  hearse  as  ostentatious 

As  much  gilding,  plumes,  and  glass  can 

Make  a  gaudy  presentation  ; 

With  a  driver  in  rich  liv'ry, — 

Made  of  many  fancy  colors, — 

With  cocked  hat  and  shoes  and  buckles, 

Like  a  dandy  of  the  old  school ; 

Or  a  tawdry  advertisement, 

Like  a  show-cart  at  a  circus ; 

Which  is  rather  out  of  keeping 

With  the  mind's  supposed  condition, 

With  the  soul's  humiliation. 


From  the  land  of  many  beggars, 
Who,  in  droves,  afflict  the  cities, 
And  with  all  the  foul  exposures 
Of  their  maims,  and  sores,  and  bruises, 


ISLE  OF  CUBA.  93 

And  soul-sickening  afflictions, 

Make  their  Saturday  processions, 

To  the  stores  and  to  the  houses, 

With  the  certainty  of  clock-work, 

By  consent  of  City  Fathers, 

Who  should  care  for  these  poor  wretches 

In  a  different  kind  of  fashion, 

In  a  better  kind  of  fashion ; 

In  a  fashion  much  more  seemly, 

Saving  them  from  degradation, 

And  all  hearts  from  laceration. 

From  the  land  of  Carne  puerco, — 
Which  means  either  pig's  or  hog's  flesh, — 
Where  the  pigs  are  pigs  of  breeding, 
That  is,  of  their  owners'  breeding, 
And  are  all  well  behaved — at  table, 
And,  indeed,  before  they're  served  up, — 
While  they're  growing  for  the  table, — 
When  they're  tethered  near  the  houses, 
Tied  to  stakes  securely  driven  ; 
And  they  have  quite  dainty  feeding 
From  the  mast  of  royal  palm-trees ; 
And  they're  never  gross  and  hoggish  ; 
Never  do,  like  Sir  John  Falstaff, 
"Lard  the  lean  earth"  with  their  fatness, 
But  are  clean,  and  sweet,  and  piggish, 
Yielding  most  delicious  flavor 


94 


A   SONG   OF  THE 


To  the  educated  palates 
Of  the  Epicurean  school. 


From  the  land  of  the  "  Shu-shuh-gah  ;" 
(To  make  free  with  the  blue  heron, 
As  'tis  named  in  "  Hiawatha/') 
Which  has  such  a  sound  suggestive 
Of  the  sugar  of  this  island, 
As  to  rule  the  mind  and  fancy 
With  most  absolute  controlment. 
And  this  name,  of  the  "  Shu-shuh-gah," 
This  blue  heron  of  the  far  West, 
Was  a  bird  of  special  omen,  — 
Was  a  word  of  fate  to  poet  ; 
Was  an  index  never  swerving  : 
Pointing  rigidly,  as  granite, 
To  the  form  his  thoughts  might  enter  ; 
To  uncompromising  costume. 
He  had  meant,  this  Estrangero, 
To  appear  in  prose  attire, 
But  the  song  of  the  "  Shu-shuh-gah" 
Was  a  sound  that  never  left  him, 
Not  in  day-time,  nor  in  night-time. 
It  kept  rolling  on  the  hours  ; 


ISLE  OF  CUBA. 


95 


It  kept  flitting  on  the  moments, 

With  persistency  surprising, 

With  a  force  that  kept  increasing, 

Like  a  snow-ball  rolled  in  new  snow ; 

Like  the  rushing  sound  of  water, — 

Of  a  cataract  at  night-time ; 

Like  the  wind  that  moves  in  cyclones  ; 

Like  a  thought  that  morbid  fancy 

Feels  impels  it  to  an  action 

Which  electrifies  the  spirit, 

And  revolts  its  human  nature ; 

And  which  quickens  every  fibre 

With  a  nervous  apprehension 

That  delirium  approaches, 

That,  by  wildness,  fixes  vision, 

That,  by  horror,  is  attractive ; 

That  keeps  urging  and  reurging, 

Till,  at  last,  its  culmination 

Is  a  suicide  or  murder! 

Which,  to  all  the  daily  journals, 

Is  a  masqueraded  blessing  ; 

As  a  theme  for  correspondence, 

And  reporting  very  spicy  ; 

Of  attempted  interviewing, 

And  with  diagrams  so  graphic, 

And  so  very  /#?^-graphic, 

That  those  papers  keep  on  booming, 


96 


A   SONG   OF  THE 

Till  some  new  sensation  rises 
Or  the  jury  is  empanelled. 
Which  bequest  of  Magna  Charta 
May  commit  another  murder 
By  unwarranted  conclusions ; 
Or  may  cause  a  fearful  riot, 
By  its  sentimental  nonsense, 
By  its  metaphysic  moonings, 
In  the  giving  crime  new  license, 
And  by  disregard  of  justice. 
For,  in  such  a  case  as  this  is — 
In  the  case  that  has  been  stated — 
Of  a  homicidal  mania, 
When  it  can  be  clearly  proven, 
The  unfortunate  demented 
Should  not  coolly  be  presented 
With  the  freedom  of  all  cities ; 
Should  not  be  allowed  to  wander 
Where  the  act  might  be  repeated. 
He  should  be  in  safe  asylum, 
And  the  public,  that  poor  victim, 
Who  is  such  a  hackneyed  scape-goat, 
Should  have  guaranty  sufficient: 
Be  abundantly  protected 
'Gainst  unfortunate  recurrence 
Of  a  homicidal  mania, 
Or  a  suicidal  mania. 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  ^ 

Now,  perhaps    the    name,    "Shu-shuh- 

gah," 

Is  the  cause  of  other  murder: 
Of  the  murder  of  King's  English ; 
Of  the  killing  sense  and  reason  ; 
And  requires  prompt  atonement, 
By  a  public  execution, 
Or  seclusion  in  a  mad-house. 
Well,  if  this  is  so,  'tis  plead  that 
We're  already  in  a  mad-house  ; 
For  this  world  is  but  a  mad-house, 
Or  a  stage  for  mad  play-actors ; 
And  the  beings  of  sound  reason 
Are  like  those  whose  sight  is  perfect, 
Or  like  angel  visitations, — 
Very  few,  and  far  between  them ! 
They're  so  paltry  in  appearance, 
And  contemptible  in  numbers, 
That  philosophy  has  stated 
That,  when  madmen  learn  their  power, 
There'll  be  requiems  for  reason, 
And  for  wise  men — only  prisons ! 

From  the  land  of  the  molasses, 
But,  alas  !  not  where  my  lass  is. 
And  I  have  four  darling  lasses, — 
Counting  wife  and  three  dear  daughters, — 
Of  whom  one  is  up  in  heaven 


98 


A   SONG    OF   THE 


With  the  gracious  God  who  made  her. 
Called  to  heaven  by  her  Maker, 
Just  to  make  pure  spirits  purer; 
Just  to  make  bright  heaven  brighter ; 
Just  to  make  sweet  music  sweeter; 
With  the  angel  voice  He  gave  her, 
Ere  to  earth  the  angels  brought  her 
As  a  loan  from  Gracious  Goodness, 
To  be  claimed  at  heaven's  pleasure, 
When  her  infant  ministration 
Should  have  done  its  proper  work  here  ; 
Should  have  opened  hearts  long  sealed 

up, 

Like  the  rock  the  prophet's  wand  touched  ; 
Should  have  helped  an  obscure  vision, 
And  restored  to  ears  their  functions ; 
And  the  erring  steps  had  brought  back 
To  the  paths  from  which  they'd  wandered  ; 
And  all  this  she  had  accomplished 
Ere    earth's  woes    could   pain    her   pure 

heart ; 

Ere  earth's  sins  could  soil  her  garments. 
And  we  knew,  with  knowledge  perfect, 
Though  our  hearts  were  draped  in  mourn 
ing* 
She  was  called  to  heaven,  in  mercy, 

As  a  link  in  soul's  salvation, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  gg 

That  can  make  the  chain  so  perfect 
That  it  never  will  be  sundered, 
When  it  shall  be  re-established 
In  the  presence  of  His  WHITE  THRONE, 
With  His  smile  of  approbation. 

In  the  land  of  the  molasses, 
Where  they  have  few  window-glasses  ; 
Where  their  panes  are  not  at  present, 
Though  what  pains  may  come  hereafter 
Must  depend  upon  their  conduct 
While  they  make  their  pilgrim's  progress 
Through  this  valley  of  the  shadow ; 
Through  this  trial  of  the  spirit ; 
Through  this  scene  of  fierce  probation, 
Where  "  the  whips  and  scorns  of  time" 
Oft  make  calamity  immortal ; 
Through  this  highway  and  this  low-way, 
Leading  to  that  unknown  country, — 
To  "  the  undiscovered  country, 
From  whose  bourn"  there's   sure  assur 
ance 

That  no  traveller  returneth. 
So,  at  least,  says  William  Shakspeare, 
And,  if  he  was  not  inspired, 
Then,  of  course,  we're  all  mistaken, 
And  there  is  no  inspiration. 


IOQ  A   SONG    OF  THE 


From  the  land  where  the  Cucuyo, 
With  its  phosphorescent  glory, 
Soars  above  all  other  glow-worms : 
Shadows  lightning-bugs  completely ; 
Other  fire-flies  eclipses ; 
And  does  this  without  pretension  : 
Makes  no  fuss  at  all  about  it ; 
And,  in  this,  it  copies  closely 
The  unconsciousness  of  goodness. 
The  soft  moon,  and  golden  stars,  here, 
Which  excel,  and  never  know  it, 
The  pale  radiance  of  Luna, 
And  the  dimmer  stellar  brightness 
Seen  in  other  lands  less  favored  : 
Where  the  sky  don't  show  as  darkly, 
In  its  cerulean  tinting, 
As  the  azure  of  the  tropics, 
In  the  garb  it  daily  puts  on  ; 
In  the  curtain  it  festoons  round 
The  night's  visible  horizon  ; 
Where  the  atmosphere,  transparent, 
Is  so  rarefied  by  sun-heat 
That  the  wide  expanse  of  heaven 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  IOi 

Seems  unfolded  to  the  vision, 

And  by  telescopic  power, 

And  through  lenses  God  created. 

Moore,  the  sweetest  bard  of  Erin, 
And  the  brightest  bard  of  Erin, 
Dwelt  a  short  time  in  Bermuda, 
And,  no  doubt,  had  seen  Cucuyo, 
And  knew  well,  perhaps,  Ciicuyo, 
By  a  name  somewhat  plebeian  : 
As  the  lightning-bug,  most  likely, 
Or  as  fire-fly's  relation. 
Moore,  too,  must  have  felt  its  brightness 
As  a  source  of  inspiration, 
When  he  heard  the  plaintive  story, 
In  the  State  of  Old  Virginny, 
As  foundation  for  that  poem 
Which  has  changed  the  "  Dismal  Swamp" 

there 

To  a  lake  more  celebrated 
Than  the  lakes  of  famed  Killarney, 
Or  the  sweet  vale  of  Avoca. 
Thus  Cucuyos  light,  reflected 
On  the  poet's  fervid  fancy, 
Had  its  out-growth  in  a  figure 
Very  neat  and  captivating ; 
In  a  metaphor  attractive, 
Both  to  ear  and  other  senses : 


I02  A    SONG    OF   THE 

In  the  "  fire-fly-lamp,"  poetic, 
That  he  gave  his  spirit-maiden, 
Which  the  broken-hearted  lover 
Dreamed,  in  his  demented  vision, 
That  his  spirit-maiden  carried, — 
Ever,  ever,  ever  carried  ! 
As  her  light  canoe  she  paddled 
On  that  lake  so  sad  and  lonely. 

By  the  aid  of  Fancy's  sketches, 
The  Cucuyo  might  be  transformed 
From  the  insect  generation 
To  the  humming-bird  persuasion ; 
For,  in  size,  'tis  half  as  large  as 
Those  small  humming-birds  coquetting 
With  the  fragrance  of  the  woodbine 
And  the  sweets  their  crimson  cups  hold. 
Then,  in  compliment,  regard  it 
As  a  humming-bird's  first  cousin, 
Dwarfed  for  some  ancestral  sinning, 
Which  has  never  been  atoned  for ; 
Which  prevents  its  finding  grace  now, — 
Keeps  its  body  still  ungraceful, 
And  its  soul  (?)  that  may  be  shining 
Through  its  thorax  and  its  green  sides, 
With  the  light  of  future  pardon, 
And  of  grace,  at  last  triumphant. 
And  the  light  which  it  keeps  showing, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  Io- 

And  which  never  is  extinguished 

While  the  lamp  of  life  keeps  burning, 

Is  a  steady  light,  whose  streaming 

May  be  used,  and  is  so  often, 

As  a  student-lamp  for  reading 

By  some  eyes  not  duly  cared  for ; 

By  some  people  young  and  foolish. 

And,  in  Cuba,  many  maidens 

Oft  impale  these  harmless  creatures  ; 

Keep  them  fastened  in  their  dark  hair, 

To  outshine  the  rarest  diamonds 

With  the  splendor  of  their  flashes, — 

With  the  living  light  they  pour  forth. 

And  these  uncomplaining  insects 

Are  without  alleged  offences  ; 

Have  been  guilty  of  no  sinning, 

Save  the  spreading  light, — God-given, — 

Like  Prometheus,  the  Titan  ; 

Like  the  world's  accepted  martyrs ; 

Like  the  truest  of  all  martyrs, 

Who  have  made  this  earth  the  wiser, 

And  the  better,  and  the  brighter 

By  that  fate  they  dared  and  suffered 

For  humanity's  advancement, 

For  the  raising  manhood's  standard 

From  the  mire  where  they  found  it 

To  a  platform  nearer  heaven  ; 


A   SONG   OF  THE 


By  the  light  they  drew,  like  Franklin, 
From  the  clouds  where  God  had  stored  it; 
By  the  light  they  were  dispensing 
As  evangels  of  Almighty. 


From  the  land  of  the  cangrejos, 
Which,  for  crabs,  are  quite  romantic, 
For  they  crawl  the  streets  by  moonlight, 
And  in  preference  to  dark  nights  ; 
Strike  their  shells  against  the  houses 
In  a  serenading  manner, 
Just  like  castanets,  or  drum-sticks 
Beating  tattoo  on  drum-barrels, 
Or  on  hoops  that  shield  the  drum-heads  ; 
And  they  walk  in  doors  and  windows, 
Where  sweet  music  may  be  sounding  ; 
Where  young  ladies  may  be  sitting  ; 
With  a  consciousness  of  welcome, 
Without  faintest  invitation, 
Save  the  strong  poetic  spasm 
That  attracts  them  towards  the  ladies, 
Who  they  deem  cannot  feel  crabbed 
At  their  hard-shell  admiration. 
Yet  these  crabs  might  puzzle  Malthus, 


ISLE  OF  CUBA. 


And  his  work  on  population, 

For,  as  crabs,  they're  not  increasing, 

As  inhabitants  of  cities,  — 

Like  the  pulgas  and  mosquitoes,  — 

But,  like  Indians,  are  dwindling, 

As  the  march  of  civ'lization 

Takes  them  'twixt  its  cruel  millstones, 

And,  by  policy  and  pounding, 

And  by  crowding  and  by  crushing, 

Drives  them  back  into  the  ocean, 

And  deprives  them  of  their  play-grounds, 

Which  they  used  to  keep  for  hunting, 

Or  for  crab-like  recreation  ; 

Like  those  hunting-grounds  where  Injuns 

Plied  their  tomahawks  and  war-clubs 

And  drove  stakes  —  which  were   no  beef 

steaks  — 

Very  firmly  tn  the  hard  earth, 
For  the  roasting  and  the  frying, 
And  the  broiling  and  the  baking, 
Of  their  dusky  friends  and  neighbors, 
And  the  impudent  pale-faces  — 
Men,  and  women,  and  young  babies  — 
Who  would  try  to  be  pre-empting 
Vacant  land,  without  more  title 
Than  the  God  of  Nature  gave  them, 
When  he  told  their  Eden  parents 


I05  A   SONG   OF  THE 

That  to  them  and  their  begetting 
The  whole  earth  should  be  a  garden, 
And  a  field  for  useful  labor, 
And  a  family  possession, 
E'en  forever  and  forever. 

And  these  crabs  that  once  abounded 
In  this  town  and  other  cities, 
In  such  numbers  that  a  poet, 
Without  straining,  might  compare  them 
To  the  leaves  of  Vallarnbrosa ; 
And  'tis  thought  those  leaves  were  many, 
Like  the  snow-flakes  in  a  snow-storm : 
And  these  crabs,  like  Vallambrosa, 
Have  been  troubled  with  a  leaving, 
By  persistent  persecution, 
Till  from  having,  as  they  once  had, 
Such  a  run  of  towns  with  paved  streets, 
(Where  they  played  their  games  of  racket ; 
Where  they  always  danced  the  racket^) 
That  their  crawling  o'er  the  pavements 
Seemed,  at  night,  like  troops  in  motion , 
Like  the  charge  at  Balaclava, — 
Like  the  Light  Brigade  of  England, — 
Like  the  tread  of  many  horses. 
And  'twas  common,  in  the  morning, 
From  the  drubbings  they  had  met  with, 
To  find  crabs  were  hors  du  combat, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


ID/ 


As  completely  as  some  horses 
In  that  charge  at  Balaclava, — 
Which,  as  act  of  a  forlorn  hope ; 
As  a  feat  of  desp'rate  daring, 
By  a  group  of  gallant  spirits ; 
Is  renowned  in  song  and  story, 
And  will  never  be  forgotten 
When  chivalric  deeds  are  talked  of, 
Or  devotion  patriotic 
Claims  their  nation's  admiration. 

Now  these  crabs  were  the  Philistines ; 
And  the  Samsons,  in  the  night-time, 
Made  no  bones  of  walking  through  them 
With  a  tread  annihilating ; 
So  that  carts  would  cart  their  corpses 
Very  early  in  the  morning, 
To  prevent  contagion  breeding, 
To  the  camps  where  turkey-buzzards, 
And  their  Ways  and  Means  Committees, 
Would  assemble  for  discussing 
Most  important  finance  questions, 
And  the  rights  they  claim  to  free  trade 
In  the  markets  of  the  whole  world, 
To  the  which  they  want  a  carte-blanche, 
And  not  carts  like  those  of  Cuba. 

Now  the  carts  that  grace  this  island 
Are  the  largest  can  be  thought  of, 


I08  A   SONG    OF  THE 

To  be  drawn  by  very  small  mules ; 

And  those  carts  that  served  for  hearses 

To  the  crabs  slain  on  the  streets  here, 

Are,  at  last,  like  black  Othello, 

(When  he  meditates  the  murder 

Of  the  doting  Desdemona,) 

Stripped  of  warlike  occupation. 

They're  among  the  things  that  have  been, 

Like  the  first  love  of  a  maiden, 

Or  mock  auctioneer  in  prison  ; 

They  are  things  now  but  of  hist'ry, 

Though  of  hist'ry  very  recent ; 

And  the  crabs — that's  those  remaining — 

They  grow  more  and  more  like  Injuns  ; 

They're  like  "Lo,"  that  oft-named  savage; 

They're  like  many  other  Injuns, — 

Have  their  proper  reservations, 

And,  if  found  in  white  man's  quarters, 

They  are  mauled  and  so  ill-treated, 

That  they  quite  despise  refinements 

Which  obstruct  their  explorations. 

They  abominate  advancement 

That  advances  on  their  hard-shells, 

That's  so  crushing  to  their  crab-life. 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


From  the  land  of  the  aranas,  — 
Which  is  Spanish  for  the  spiders  ; 
From  the  land  where  tel-aranas 
(Spiders'  webs  are  tel-aranas] 
Hang  in  festoons  from  the  rafters, 
With  their  many  kinds  of  shading, 
From  light  brown  to  darkest  sable, 
While  not  deemed  so  ornamental 
As  to  challenge  admiration, 
Or  be  claimed  as  floral  garlands, 
They  are  treated  very  gently  ; 
No  objections  urged  against  them 
As  they  flutter  in  the  breezes, 
Like  the  flags  that  sweep  the  ocean 
In  bravado  to  small  nations. 
And  a  proof  of  this  assertion 
Is  an  anecdote  good-natured, 


Of  a  Cuban  friend  who  read  this, 
And  who  deemed  it  warmly  colored, 
And  commenced  a  protestation  ; 
When  the  writer,  smiling  gently, 


10 


IIO  A   SONG    OF  THE 

Pointed  to  his  cedar  rafters, — 
To  his  solid  cedar  rafters ; 
To  his  rafters  highly  polished, 
From  which  fluttered,  quite  unnoticed, 
Spiders'  webs  and  by  the  dozens  ; 
Tel-aranas  by  the  hundred  ; 
Just  dead  loads  of  tel-aranas  ; 
Though,  in  fact,  'twas  not  best  season 
For  large  crops  of  tel-aranas. 
Then  the  gentleman  referred  to 
Smiled  a  cheerful  acquiescence, 
And,  invoking  a  dependent, 
Made  him  engineer  a  long  pole, 
Organized  for  the  occasion, 
And  assail  with  desp'rate  daring 
Those  same  lofty  cedar  rafters, 
Twenty  feet  above  the  marble, — 
The  quadrangulated  marble 
Of  that  tessellated  smooth  floor, 
And  arouse  all  the  aranas 
From  their  somnolent  condition  ; 
From  their  dreams  of  circumvention 
Of  the  flippant  flies  and  foolish. 
"  Recklessly  assail  those  foemen  ! 
(This  he  said,  as  fearing  no  men,) 
"  Recklessly  assail  those  foemen 
With  the  besom  of  destruction  ! 


Page  no. 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  IIT 

Till  they  think  that  Rome  is  howling 

At  barbarian  invasion  ! 

Sweep    with    broom    that    no    remorse 

knows, 

And  demolish  by  one  fell  sweep, 
Those  intrusive  tel-aranas  !" 

Thus  he  called  his  man  Matteo, 
Who  deserves  especial  mention  ; 
Who  shall  have  especial  mention  ; 
Who  was  growing  old — but  lazy ! 
Well,  e'en  language  fails  this  moment 
To  express  his  inanition, 
Which  has  always  been  his  strong  point, 
And  an  heir-loom  in  his  family. 
He  had  been,  since  natal  hour, 
Noted  for  the  torpid  action 
Of  his  metaphysic  structure 
And  his  body's  locomotion ; 
And,  had  laziness  been  fortune, 
Then  his  wealth  would  far  exceed  that 
Of  all  New  York's  noted  gold  kings, 
Or  the  wealth  of  all  the  Rothschilds, 
Or  of  Lydian  monarch  Croesus, 
Or  the  mines  of  famed  Golconda, 
And  would  discount  California, 
Make  Nevada  die  with  envy, 
And  collapse  poor  Colorado. 


112 


A   SONG    OF  THE 


This  black  prince, — he  can't  be  blacker, 
Since  black  charcoal  makes  a  white  mark 
On  his  face  and  midnight  features, — 
This  black  prince,  who's  named  Matteo, 
Is  unlike  that  royal  scion  ; 
Is  unlike  the  son  of  Edward, 
Saving  that  he  is  a  black  prince, 
Black  as  Ethiope  can  furnish, 
And  a  real  very  black  prince, 
Who  had  been,  in  lisping  hours, 
Out  in  Congo  or  the  Soudan  ; 
Captured,  sold,  and  shipped  in  slaver, 
To  be  civilized  in  Cuba, 
Working  sugar  on  plantations, 
When  an  overseer  could  work  him, 
Which  no  overseer  on  two  legs 
Ever  could  succeed  in  doing, 
Though  they  might  easily  have  killed  him. 
So  they  made  him  a  house-servant, 
And  they  called  him  Slow-and-easy, 
In  equivalent  expression, 
And  in  not  the  best  Castilian. 
Now  Matteo  proved  his  title : 
Proved,  and  quite  established  birthright, — 
Proved  his  royalty  inherent 
By  his  hatred  of  all  labor ; 
By  his  dull  and  stupid  staring, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


1*3 


And  by  grins  at  loud  reproaches ; 
By  his  snail-like  labored  motions 
When  a  house  might  be  on  fire, 
Or  emergency  was  calling, 
Such  as  even  sloths  might  warm  to ; 
Such  as  might  excite  mud-turtles, 
Or  would  set  a  snail  to  waltzing, 
Or  might  make  e'en  corpses  lively. 

He  it  was,  this  same  Matteo, 
Who  could  sit  with  mouth  wide  open, 
Catching  flies  like  alligators, 
And,  with  lips  like  links  of  sausage 
Roused  from  sleep  in  ancient  smoke-house; 
Looking  as  though  hibernating, 
And  as  dormant  as  a  fossil ; 
Looking  vacantly  on — nothing, 
With  a  dull  lethargic  staring : 
Waiting  little  birdling's  tendance  ; 
Hoping  little  birds  would  feed  him ; 
Waiting  for  Elijah's  ravens 
To  drop  food  into  his  red  mouth, 
Just  between  his  gums  and  grinders ; 
To  bring  meals  from  eating-houses, 
And  to  pay  his  little  bills  there ; 
Which  would  make  this  world  an  Eden, 
Such  as  poets  never  dreamed  of, 
Such  as  artists  never  painted, 

h  zc* 


H^  A   SONG    OF   THE 

Such  as  sculptors  never  chiselled. 

He  it  was  our  friend  now  summoned, — 
And  'twould  be  a  real  pleasure, 
Now,  to  give  that  real  friend's  name  ; 
But  he's  diffident  to  shyness, 
So  we'll  call  him  just  Don  Carlos, 
Who  dwells  in  a  lovely  quint  a> 
Just  on  edge  of  city  limits, 
Where  he  entertains  quite  princely, 
On  the  best  that  wealth  can  furnish, 
Both  of  nectar  and  ambrosia, 
Which  give  room  for  free  translation 
Into  any  wine  or  diet 
Different  fancies  may  desire. 
And  our  cherished  friend,  Don  Carlos, 
Summoned,  now,  his  man  Matteo, — 
Even  he — old  Slow-and-easy  ; 
And  he  came,  as  to  a  fun'ral ; 
And  when  told  that  he  must  labor, 
And  when  shown  the  work  before  him, 
Moved  around  as  broken-hearted 
As  though  weeping  o'er  the  coffin 
Of  his  wife's  departed  mother. 
All  this  while  his  master  urged  him, 
With  appeals  that  rocks  might  soften  ; 
That  might  make  e'en  stout  trees  caper, 
And  make  weeping-willows  cheerful ; 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  j  l  5 

Urged  him  with  gesticulation, 

Every  gushing  word  portraying, 

To  be  more  expert  in  motion  ; 

To  let  besom  crowd  all  sail  on  ; 

To  nail  broom  up  to  his  mast-head, 

Like  an  Amsterdam  high-admiral, 

Or  some  other  'dam  high-admiral, 

Who,  though  high  in  rank  and  prowess, 

Spoke  low  Dutch  to  all  his  sailors ; 

Wrote  low  Dutch  in  correspondence 

With  their  Highnesses  of  Holland. 

Thus  Don  Carlos  spared  no  effort 

To  arouse  his  man,  Matteo, 

To  a  little  pluck  and  pushing ; 

To  a  sense  of  moral  duty ; 

To  a  spurt  of  wakeful  action. 

But  he  might  as  well  have  whistled 

Irish  jigs  to  English  mile-stones, 

Or  have  preached  to  legs  of  mutton, 

Or  have  tried  to  move  a  mountain, 

E'en  a  "  Greenland's  Icy  Mountain," 

As  to  stimulate  Matteo, — 

Save  by  drinks  of  agiiardiente, 

Or  by  offer  of  more  dinner 

After  he  had  finished  eating ; 

When  he'd  dined,  and  to  repletion  ; 

Which  would  cause  his  eyes  to  blink  like 


!  1 5  A   SONG    OF   THE 

Frogs',  when  imitating  oxen, 
By  distention  to  explosion. 

Still,  the  work  was  slowly  finished, 
In  a  very  slipshod  fashion, 
And  the  sweeping  done  and  over ; 
When  the  sweeper  grinned  with  pleasure, 
Like  a  sooty  Jacky  Horner 
With  a  Christmas-pie  in  prospect, 
In  the  shape  of  rest  from  labor  ; 
In  the  shape  of  call  alluring, — 
Call — from  labor  to  refreshment ! 
Though  those  very  nimble  spiders, 
From  their  nooks  and  their  dim  corners, 
Laughed  to  see  the  awkward  progress 
Of  Matteo's  broom  in  motion. 
And  Matteo  never  saw  them ; 
Never  heard  their  scornful  laughter ; 
But  he  smiled,  and  smiled  quite  blandly, 
At  the  epithets  his  master 
Rained  on  paralytic  process ; 
Showered  on  his  ghastly  motions ; 
On  his  tenderness  in  sweeping; 
Which  had  done  some  partial  slaughter, 
While  Don  Carlos  supervised  him, 
But  had  left  concealed  aranas 
Clinging  to  those  cedar  rafters, — 
Just  as  nest-eggs  for  a  new  crop. 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


a 


117 


Before  leaving  the  aranas, 
No  excuse  would  be  admitted 
At  the  failure,  at  this  moment, 
At  this  opportune  occasion, 
To  introduce  the  country  cousins 
Of  the  spider  of  the  houses, 
Which,  besides  the  name  arana, 
Takes  Peluda  as  its  surname, 
Which  word  signifies  'tis  hairy  ; 
As  it  is,  and  very  hairy  ; 
And  'tis  larger,  with  its  eight  legs,  — 
Very  long,  and  very  black  legs,  — 
Than  the  hand  of  any  baby. 
And  it  burrows  very  deeply, 
Say  as  deep  as  eighteen  inches, 
And,  sometimes,  as  deep  as  two  feet, 
In  the  holes  it  digs  in  gardens, 
Or  in  country  excavations  ; 
And  it  hunts  its  prey  at  night-time, 
Without  aid  of  tel-aranas, 
But  with  awkwardness  and  main  strength, 
It  goes  hunting,  in  the  darkness, 


g  A   SONG    OF  THE 

Seeking  what  it  may  devour, 

And  devours  what  it  fancies ; 

But  there's  one  thing  it  don  t  fancy, — 

The  caballo  del  diablo, 

Or,  the  Devil's  horse,  translated, — 

That's  a  fly,  in  length  three  inches, 

And  like  what  is  often  seen  in 

The  Northern  States  and  Southern, — 

But,  in  Cuba,  is  more  vicious 

Than  the  Yankee  Satan  s  small  steed ; 

And  is  fearless  as  Achilles, 

And  without  Achilles'  armor ; 

And  it  has  a  bitter  grudge  'gainst 

The  arana  in  its  cloister, — 

In  its  excavated  parlor, 

Where  it  don't  sing  songs  inviting 

Visitation  to  its  parlor 

Of  sophisticated  vermin, — 

Of  this  winged  horse  with  long  legs, 

And  with  sting  that  darts  much  venom, 

But  caballo  del  diablo 

Goes  in  search  of  that  arana 

In  the  last  depths  of  his  cavern  ; 

Even  into  his  sub-cellar, — 

Bearding  lion  in  his  own  den  ! 

Thus  compelling  him  to  follow, 

From  researches  geologic, — 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  II 

From  abstractions  metaphysic, 

From  the  darkness  to  the  surface, 

And  accept  the  gage  of  battle, 

Which  is  always  mortal  conflict ; 

And  which  often  lasts  for  hours, 

And  which  always  ends  in  conquest 

Of  the  very  hairy  spider 

By  caballo  del  diablo, 

Who  appropriates  the  body 

To  his  own  domestic  uses, 

And,  by  this,  he  illustrates  well 

The  oft-quoted  combination, 

Of  the  world — and  its  small  conflicts  ; 

Of  the  Flesh — and  its  rebellions  ; 

And  the  Devil — seeking  victims. 


From  the  land  of  paper  money, 
Which  is  at  a  dreadful  discount ; 
Where  its  par  is  a  step-father 
That's  discarded  it  forever, 
While  the  babe  roams  torn  and  ragged, 
Like  the  vilest  of  creation, 
And  offending  all  the  senses, 
Which,  in  vain,  invoke  protection 


I2Q  A   SONG    OF   THE 

'Gainst  a  limping  tattered  nuisance, 

Almost  equal  to  street-beggars. 

From  this  land  of  paper-money, 

Where  the  large  notes,  like  the  "  fifties," 

Or  of  even  smaller  sizes, 

Are  as  large  as  pony-blankets, 

Or  as  baby-quilts  for  cradles ; 

And  are  meanest  of  shinplasters  ; 

And  they  look  dilapidated, 

To  the  verge  of  dissolution, 

And  beyond  the  recognition 

Of  the  eyes  not  microscopic ; 

And  they  travel  through  the  country 

On  a  mission  of  contagion, 

And  get  in  and  out  the  pockets, 

That  reluctantly  receive  them, 

Growing  heavier  with  dirt-stains, 

And  accumulating  suet, 

As  they  lighter  grow  in  value, 

And  in  loss  of  pristine  paper. 

And  this  paper  epidemic 
Is  an  evil  so  unquestioned 
That  it  quite  unsettles  values, 
Where  the  paper  has  a  value ; 
But  it  has  no  real  value ; 
While  the  discount  keeps  increasing, 
While  there's  doubt  of  its  redemption. 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  I2i 

No,  it  has  no  real  value, 
Though  divisible  in  reals, 
(That's  the  name  for  Spanish  dimes  here,) 
Ten  of  which  are  called  a  dollar, — 
That's  ten  reals,  called  sencillo, 
Which  means  light  and  simple  reals, 
While  eight  reals,  they  call  fuerte, — 
Which   means   strong   when    you    speak 

Spanish, — 

Make  a  dollar  of  like  value. 
So  a  dollar  means  a  dollar, 
Whether  paper,  gold,  or  silver ; 
But  a  real's  fluctuating, 
Even  with  a  real  value ; 
That's  a  real  silver  real 
Which  is  proved,  like  married  women, — 
Proved  like  brides  who've  been  to  church 

here, — 

By  the  genuineness  of  its  ringing ; 
By  its  ring  upon  the  finger, 
As  a  scale  for  doubtful  money. 

Now  a  word  more  on  this  subject, 
On  this  monetary  subject, 
To  correct  strange  misconception 
Which  has  grown  up  with  most  people 
About  doblons  and  onzas, 
Which  they  anglicize  at  pleasure, 

R  II 


I22  A   SONG    OF  THE 

And  call  double  loons  and  ounces ; 

And  they  quite  transpose  their  values, 

Making  double  loons  the  larger, 

When  they're  only  quarter-ounces, 

And  four  dollars  and  a  quarter 

Is  a  doblons  full  value  ; 

Though  some  would-be-wise  persist  in 

A  most  obstinate  denial, 

And  in  spite  of  demonstration, 

Which  the  lisping  babes  of  Cuba 

Can,  at  shortest  notice,  furnish. 


From  the  land  where  the  cockroaches 
Are  not  larger  than  canaries, 
And  not  smaller  than  the  rice-birds, 
And  fly  faster  than  the  herons, 
Or  than  hawks  when  they're  pursuing, 
Or  than  hungry  turkey-buzzards 
When  they  spy  a  dying  donkey, 
While  they  cleave  the  air,  much  tainted, 
With  alacrity  hilarious. 
From  this  land  of  the  legartos, — 
Which  word  means  the  playful  lizards, 
Which  oft  pop — quite  unexpected — 


ISLE   OF   CUBA. 


I23 


From  a  sugar-bowl  or  basin, 

And  fix  glist'ning  eyes  upon  you, 

Full  of  mirthfulness  and  mischief, 

Which  say,  in  legarto  language, 

"Ah !  you  see,  I'm  here  before  you  ! 

Does  your  mother  know  you're  out,  sir?" 

From  this  land  of  ccntopies, 

Or  the  hundred-legged  creatures : 

This  home  of  escorpiones, 

With  their  vivacious  poisoned  tails  ; 

With  their  very  painful  stings ; 

This  paradise  of  hormigas, — 

Ants, — some  kinds  can  carry  trees  off 

As  those  named  the  vivi-aguas, 

Or,  in  English,  "Lively  Waters"  ! 

These  can  really  carry  trees  off, 

As  they  march  in  long  processions  ; 

As  they  march  in  countless  thousands, 

Bearing  fragments  on  their  small  backs, 

Leaving  trees  quite  bare  of  verdure, 

Just  for  moonlight  recreation, 

As  a  single  night's  amusement ! 

And  they'll  carry  off  the  houses 

If  they're  only  granted  leisure ; 

They'll  dilapidate  large  houses, 

And  compel  their  renovation, 

Or,  in  years,  will  leave  them  ruins. 


A   SONG   OF  THE 


This  resort  of  the  tornados, 
(One  of  which  now  rages  round  us,) 
Patronized  by  hurricanes. 


Where  a  host  of  billeteros, — 

Who  are  peddlers  of  perdition, 

Who  are  lottery-ticket  venders, — 

With  excruciating  voices, 

Are  far  worse  than  the  worst  locusts, 

And  devour  all  the  substance 

Gleaned  by  the  ignorant  and  poor, 

Who,  while  grasping  at  the  shadow 

Of  an  evanescent  fortune, 

Miss  the  real  fortune  waiting, — 

It  may  be — waiting  at  their  door ! 

Where  the  wolf,  too,  stands  to  greet  them, 

As  it  laughs  at  their  delusions, 

Which  dig  their  miserable  graves. 

One  thing  more  about  these  voices ; 
These  mind's-peace-destroying  voices ; 
Which  requires  to  be  mentioned, — 
That  there's  quite  a  lot  of  people 
Who  bring  many  things  to  market ; 
Who  sell  goods  upon  the  sidewalks ; 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  125 

At  the  doors  and  at  the  windows, 

And  who  rap  against  the  shutters, 

And  who  tap  upon  the  irons, 

And  who  peep  through  all  the  key-holes ; 

l</, . 

Peep  with  pertinacious  peeping, 

As  a  thing  of  country's  custom, 

That  should  never  be  surprising, 

And  that  merits  no  resentment, 

Like  the  peeping  that's  reported 

By  Lord  Tennyson,  and  others, 

On  that  gracious  queen  of  England, 

On  the  beautiful  Godiva. 

When  she  rode  in  summer  costume, 

Dressed  alone  in  spotless  beauty, 

And  in  purity  like  heavens, 

Through  those  silent  streets  in  daytime, 

With  a  heart  brimful  of  goodness ; 

Overflowing  with  devotion 

And  with  mercy  for  those  people, 

Who  were  different  from  these  people, 

From  these  miscellaneous  people, 

Who  can  see  no  harm  in  peeping ; 

Not  in  peeping  through  large  key-holes, 

When  they  seek  for — information. 


I26  A   SONG   OF  THE 


at. 


And  these  miscellaneous  people, 
Who  sell  notions  on  the  sidewalks  ; 
Who  sell  wet,  and  moist,  and  dry-goods,  — 
And  the  dry-goods,  for  the  reason 
That  the  shopping  our  home-folks 
Are  so  zealous  for,  in  daytime, 
Is  deferred,  in  this  warm  climate, 
Till  quite  late  in  early  evening  ; 
And  it  lasts  from  eight  to  ten,  when 
Chatty  ladies  and  duenas 
Make  clerk's  humdrum  life  seem  lively, 
By  investigating  dry-goods, 
And  exploring  all  the  shelving, 
And  pre-empting  "  fancy  fixins" 
For  the  household's  wants  and  wishes, 
Or  for  female  occupation, 
And  for  source  of  female  chitchat. 

Yes,  these  nabobs  of  the  side-walk, 
And  these  Claflins  of  the  curbstone, 
And  Field,  Lighters,  of  the  pavement, 
Sell  their  wet,  and  moist,  and  dry-goods, 
Such  as  milk,  and  fruit,  and  frilling  ; 
Such  as  laces,  tapes,  and  linen  ; 
(And  a  lot  of  female  jimcracks, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


127 


That  are  smuggled  and  sold  cheaply ;) 

Such  as  fish,  and  eggs,  and  poultry ; 

Such  as  sweetmeats,  pigs,  and  parrots  ; 

Such  as  peanut  sugar-candy, — 

Sold  by  negresses  uncleanly, — 

Which  they  christen  " alegria" 

As  a  joke  on  something  joyful, 

Which  is  "  alegrias"  meaning  ; 

And  these  negresses  uncleanly 

Are  a  race  that's  fat  and  lazy, 

Who,  with  hoofs  quite  elephantine, — 

Often  without  shoes  or  stockings, 

And  with  costumes  which  display  well 

Graceful  outline  of  the  figure, 

With  its   humps,  and    bumps,   and   curv- 

ings  — 

Make  their  pleasant  pilgrimages, — 
Bawling,  loudly,  "  alegria  !" 
With  big  baskets  nicely  balanced 
On  their  heads  so  crisp  and  woolly, 
They'd  be  splendid  for  mattresses, 
And  whose  pores  do  much  distilling 
Of  a  greasy  sweat, — not  ichor, 
Such  as  came  from  chaste  Diana 
When  she  hunted  after  sun-up  ; 
Or  the  sapient  Minerva 
Working  hard  at  mathematics  ; 


I28  A  SONG    OF  THE 

Or  through  Venus  permeated 

When  her  husband  caught  her  tripping ; 

Or,  perhaps,  caused  Hebe's  stumble, 

When  she  made  great  Juno  jealous  ; 

When,  as  Jupiter's  cup-bearer, 

She  gave  Jove  his  fav'rite  tipple, 

As  enthroned  on  Mount  Olympus, 

And,  most  likely,  half-seas-over, 

He  drank  toasts  with  jolly  Neptune ; 

Ordered  thunderbolts  from  Vulcan, 

For  experimental  lightning, 

For  amusement  pantheontic, — 

For  pyrotechnical  displays. 

And  these  merchants  on  the  sidewalks 
Pay  a  special  local  license, 
And  they  sell  their  goods  and  chattels, 
Such  as  those  that  have  been  mentioned 
Such  as  Chinese-made  confections, 
Sold  by  Chinese  shaking  rattles, 
Shaking  large  tin  baby-rattles, 
Striking  large  and  small  triangles, 
Beating  bamboos  on  flat  boxes, 
Looking  grave  as  learned  pundits, 
Or  as  chancellors  on  woolsacks ; 
Crying,  ofttimes,  Chinese  ice-creams, 
To  line  stomachs  copper-bottomed ! 
Or,  for  fancies  adamantine, 


ISLE  OF  CUBA. 


129 


They  yell  out  their  water-ices. 

YELL!      ay,     there's     the    word      that's 

needed, — 

That  expresses  without  rhyming — 
And  without  infernal  rhyming — 
All  the  exquisite  discomfort 
Of  a  place  too  hot  to  mention, 
Save  as  Satan's  summer  palace ! 
Yes,  that  word  needs  no  exchanging  ; 
No  equivalent's  accepted, 
When  we  talk  of  cries  like  war-whoops  ; 
Yells  that  beat  the  Modocs  hollow, 
And  which  come  from  all  street  merchants, 
Of  all  colors  and  all  classes ; 
Of  all  ages  and  all  sexes, 
Whose  ambition  is  attained  if 
They  out-yell  all  competition. 

But,  to  stop  these  long  digressions 
And  return  to  where  we  left  off, 
When  the  billetero  nuisance 
Raised  a  storm  of  indignation 
On  a  pitiful  foundation  : 
These  rare  legends  and  traditions, 
And  these  monumental  truths  told ; 
These  results  of  observation, 
And  of  careful  scrutinizing ; 
Made  sans  care  for  sinverguenzas, 


A   SONG    OF   THE 

(Who  are  Cuban  shameless  fellows, 

On  a  par  with  Yankee  blackguards,) 

Are  collected  with  some  labor, 

From  the  land  of  guava  jellies ; 

From  the  land  where  royal  palm-trees 

Are  an  everlasting  blessing 

And  a  never-fading  beauty ! 

From  the  land  of  chapapote, — 

If  you  like  just  call  that  asphalt, 

Which  is  dredged  in  bay  Cardenas, 

And,  from  Trinidad,  is  much  prized, 

And  is  found  in  many  places 

Not  far  distant  from  Havana, 

Though  of  not  as  fine  a  texture, 

Or  desirable  for  commerce, 

But  as  nearly  at  earth's  surface 

As  are  plantains  or  potatoes, 

Or  as  yams,  or  ttfrijoles^ — 

This  last  word's  pronounced  free-hole-is, 

And  it  means  white  beans,  or  black  ones, 

Which,  with  us,  were  army  diet 


Till  we  "  bridged  the  Bloody  Chasm," 
And,  in  tend'rest  embraces, 
Placed  our  reconstructed  brothers 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  131 

On  our  agitated  bosoms, 

When,  like  Prodigal's  old  parent, 

We  cried,  "Havoc!" — to  much  poultry; 

On  the  dogs  of  war  put  muzzles, 

And  we  just  slayed  the  fatted  calves. 

And  in  this  we  did  our  duty, 

For,  the  sad  strife  being  over, 

We  were  all  again  one  household ; 

Were  again  a  band  of  brothers, 

With  the  bickerings  of  brothers, 

Which,  in  time,  will  be  forgotten ; 

When  the  causes  of  those  squabbles 

Will  exist  but  in  tradition ; 

While  the  joy  of  reconcilement 

Will  be  lasting  and  recurrent, 

And  find  vent  in  times  of  trouble, 

When  true  sympathy  is  needed,     . 

And    when     friendship's     crowned    with 

blessings ; 

In  the  times  when  yellow  fever, 
Taking  form  of  King  of  Terrors, 
Spreads  a  gloom  o'er  fruitful  regions, 
Wild — and  dark — as  raven's  plumage. 
When  such  fires  as  Chicago's, 
Or  such  flames  as  rose  in  Boston, 
Throw  their  glare  above  the  buildings, 
And  do  more  than  shine  through  windows  ; 


2  A   SONG   OF   THE 

They  light  tip  fraternal  spirits, 
And  they  prove  our  links  of  love  are 
Just  as  sound  and  adamantine 
As  when  welded  by  THE  FATHERS 
In  the  Hall  of  Independence. 
And,  if  further  proofs  are  needed 
Of  these  interesting  statements, 
They'll  be  met  with  in  December, 
At  the  Cotton  Exposition, 
Where  the  royal  Mississippi 
(Who  of  course  is  married  lady,) 
Winds  her  arm  around  the  waist  of 
Her  most  fascinating  daughter, 
Who  to  Joan  of  Arc  is  likened, — 
That  fair  maid  of  inspiration, 
And  the  maid  of  OLD  Orleans,  too ; 
While  this,  Mississippi's  daughter, 
That  sits  grandly  on  the  water, 
In  her  maiden  meditation, 
Is,  beyond  all  disputation, 
Virgin  altogether  lovely, 
And  fair  maid  of  NEW  Orleans,  too. 

What  a  pleasing  recollection 
Of  the  stars  and  stripes  arises 
When  the  fatted  calves  are  mentioned ! 
'Tis  like  kindred  reminiscence 
Of  the  Christmas  turkey -gobbler, 


ISLE  OF  CUBA. 

Or  of  pumpkin-pies  Thanksgiving, — 

Which  excite  all  fervid  spirits 

To  their  patriotic  centres, 

Till  they  join  in  one  grand  chorus 

To  those  purely  Yankee  blessings. 

But  the  fatted  calves  in  Cuba, 

They  are  never  slain  for  diet ; 

So,  to  adolescent  status, 

They  proceed  uninterrupted, 

And  grow  into  beasts  of  burden, 

Or  they  grace  the  gay  arena, 


133 


et 


Where  they  have  their  little  bull-fights, 
With  their  matadors  and  red  flags, 
On  the  afternoons  of  Sundays  ; 
Which  is  time  for  recreation,  — 
At  bull-fights  and  in  the  cock-pit,  — 
And  by  gen'ral  recognition  ; 
Though  the  bulls  don't  understand  this,- 
If  they  did,  would  not  accept  it, 
And  can't  see  the  recreation, 
When  they  feel  much  stimulated, 
By  the  many  darts,  steel-pointed, 
That  are  driven  in  their  poor  necks, 

12 


A   SONG   OF   THE 

Causing  pain  and  making  blood  flow: 
Making  all  their  muscles  vibrate 
Like  the  strings  of  a  "  grand  action," 
Or  the  bass  strings  of  bass  viols 
Till  the  flesh  begins  to  quiver, 
And  their  eyes  to  glare  with  madness, 
As  they  wildly  dart  in  fury 
To  o'erwhelm  their  persecutors, 
Or  escape  from  the  arena : 
From  the  realms  of  Christian  kindness 
To  the  wilderness'  mercy, 
Amidst  worse  than  savage  monsters. 
Oh,  these  bulls  are  without  reason, 
And  so  different  from  the  Irish ! 
Or  from  Papal  Bulls  we  read  of; 
Or  the  gentle  bulls  that  pasture 
On  the  New  York  Stock  Exchange  floor ! 
Which  said  bulls  are  sometimes  "  Golden"  : 
They  tear  fortunes  into  tatters, 
(Like  those  bulls  oft  treat  the  red  flags,) 
Or  lose  fortunes  and  in  flashes, 
And  make  ducks  and  drakes  of  fortunes, 
(Make  them  poultry  not  nutritious, — 
In  the  sense  those  names  are  used  here,) 
And  inaugurate  Black  Fridays, 
And  such  wide-spread  consternation 
As  late  followed  New  York  failures, 


ISLE  OF  CUBA. 


135 


Amongst  banks  and  many  brokers, 
Who,  like  alchemists,  attempted 
To  turn  all  the  baser  metals 
Into  gold  of  finest  carats ; 
Into  coin  like  double-eagles. 

And   they  don't   know   what's   amuse 
ment  ! 

These  poor  animals  of  Cuba ; 
These  possessors  of  blind  instinct. 
They  can't  tell  where  instinct  closes, 
Or  where  reason  shoots  above  it ; 
And,  of  course,  can  see  no  fun  in 
Soaring  reason's  little  bull-fights. 
They  are  dumb  and  unresponsive 
When  invited  to  a  bull-fight ; 
Seem  inclined  to  make  excuses 
'Gainst  attendance  at  a  bull-fight ; 
And  will  roar,  like  bulls  of  Bashan, 
'Gainst  continuance  of  bull-fights, 
As  the  fights  that  are  not  fitting 
For  the  age,  or  any  nation 
Claiming  faith  in  Christian  doctrine, 
And  as  bad  are  as  the  Ring  is, — 
The  demoralizing  prize-ring ; 
And  disgusting  as  its  fights  are, 
As  its  brutal,  bloody  fights  are ; 
Fights  that  slander  gen'rous  manhood, 


A   SONG   OF  THE 

And  pervert  a  term  attractive, 
When  the  "  manly  art"  they  call  them. 
Now,  these   beasts   are  great  improve 
ments 

On  the  brutes  that  strut  the  prize-ring ; 
These  don't  want  to  go  in  training 
For  the  features'  mutilation, 
Or  the  body's  base  defilement, 
And  will  roar,  in  protestation, 
At  all  subterfuge  attempted  ; 
And  in  spite  of  special  pleading 
Of  the  lords  of  the  creation, — 
Of  their  bettors  at  a  bull-fight ; 
Of  abettors  knowing  better, — 
They  continue  their  objections  : 
Won't  appreciate  a  bull-fight  ; 
Won't  become  heroic  creatures 
Floating  on  a  sea  of  glory ; 
Rather  would  grow  old  in  labor, 
As  the  cattle  do  here  mostly, 
And,  when  old,  be  sent  to  market, — 
That's  when  very  old  and  feeble, 
And  when  past  all  useful  labor, — 
Then  be  hacked  up  into  beefsteaks 
And  in  tenderloins,  not  tender ; 
With  no  tenderness  about  them, 
And  no  tendency  in  that  way, 


BULL-RING  AND   PRIZE-RING. 


Page  136. 


ISLE  OF  CUBA. 


'37 


Which  might  make  them  melt  like  butter 
In  the  mouths  of  babes  and  sucklings. 


And  the  cows,  too,  they  grow  ancient, 
Though  they're  like  the  soil,  prolific, 
And,  while  Nature  comes  to  aid  them, 
They  secrete  their  pure  nutrition, 
And  dispense  the  creamy  fluid, 
As  they're  driven  to  the  houses 
In  the  towns  and  in  the  cities, 
With  their  muzzled  calves  beside  them,  — 
Bleating  much  like  hungry  children,  — 
And  are  milked  before  the  front  doors, 
Where,  of  course,  there's  no  deception, 
Such  as  milkmen  practise  elsewhere  ; 
Though  some  reckless  vilifiers  — 
Sure  such  charges  must  be  slanders  !  — 
Say  that  milkmen  here  in  Cuba, 
Ay,  that  milkmen  at  the  front  doors, 
Have  their  tricks  like  other  milkmen, 
Who  have  breeds  of  iron-tailed  cows,  — 
Which  means  mixing  milk  with  water, 
At  the  pumps  and  at  the  hydrants, 
As  'tis  said  they  almost  all  do 


SONG   OF  THE 


In  the  most  of  Yankee  cities  ; 

While,  in  Cardenas,  at  the  houses, 

And  in  other  Cuban  cities, 

Honest  milkmen  carry  sponges 

Up  their  sleeves  and  on  their  bare  arms, 

And  from  thence  the  water  trickles 

In  their  honest  liquid  measures  ! 

And  they  wind  around  their  bodies 

A  sufficiency  of  tubing, 

Subject  to  persuasive  pressure, 

Like  the  bagpipes  of  the  Scotchman  ; 

And  they  play  their  pipes  so  rural, 

To  a  tune  like  "  tooral-looral," 

That  the  god  Pan  might  mistake  them 

For  the  very  reeds  he  played  on, 

As  through  sylvan  scenes  he  wandered, 

Casting  sheep's-eyes  at  young  dryads. 

Now  these  stories  are  repeated, 
Of  the  milkmen  of  both  countries,  — 
That's  of  Yankee-land  and  Cuba,  — 
As  reports  that  may  be  questioned  ; 
As  in  want  of  confirmation, 
By  some  oaths  on  Holy  Bible, 
Or  by  affirmations  formal, 
Or  confession  on  a  death-bed, 
Of  a  conscience-stricken  milkman  ! 
For  'tis  frankly  now  conceded 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  j  39 

That  they're  based  on  ipse  dixit, 
Such  as  furnish  the  foundations 
Of  the  longest  ed'torials, 


And  communications  strongest, 
And  the  raciest  reportings, 
And  the  spiciest  sensations, 
And  of  many  dashing  "  leaders," 
Of  the  greatest  leading  papers 
Of  the  old  world  and  the  new  world, 
Whose  tremendous  circulation, 
With  the  power  incidental, 
Make  their  voices  most  potential, 
To  the  weal  or  woe  of  millions, 
On  this  sublunary  planet. 


From  this  land  of  the  pineapples  ; 
From  the  land  of  the  bananas, 
Of  refrescos  and  naranjas  ; 
(Of  refreshments  and  the  orange, 
As  expressed  in  Spanish  language;) 


140 


A   SONG   OF  THE 


From  the  land  of  the  mananas, 

And  the  land  of  otras  diets, — 

That's  the  land  of  the  to-morroivs  ; 

This,  the  land  of  other  days  is : 

Both  express  procrastination, 

As  a  rule  of  Spanish  custom 

Which  exhibits  few  exceptions  ; 

Which  postpones  until  to-morrow 

What  the  present  deems  fatiguing ; 

And  the  future's  ever  distant, 

And  is  never  heard  objecting, 

Just  because  'tis  out  of  hearing ! 

From  the  land  where  doubtful  olives 

Make  the  sweet-oil  more  than  doubtful, 

And  where  sweet-oil  and  much  garlic 

Circulate  among  most  viands 

With  a  freedom  quite  alarming 

To  uneducated  palates, 

That  incline  towards  milder  flavors ; 

In  the  land  where  mantaquitla 

Means  the  sickest  kind  of  butter, 

That  can  discount  oleomargarine. 

From  the  land  of  greasy  cooking, 

From  the  land  of  many  dishes, 

From  the  land  of  huevos  frescos, 

Which  the  outside  world  calls  fresh  eggs  ; 

Knows  those  eggs  are  quite  excelling, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 

As  of  recognized  fine  flavor, 

And,  with  rice,  are  ever  present 

As  a  garnish  to  the  table, 

And  as  most  substantial  diet. 

From  the  land  of  much  tasajo, 

(That's    jerked    beef    when    named    in 

English,) 

Where  they  dote  on  the  tasajo, 
And  eat  bacaloa  with  relish,  — 
Have  the  codfish  at  all  tables. 
As  a  favorite  standing  dish. 


C€i  t. 


From  the  land  of  little  Cupids  ; 
Black,  and  yellow,  and  white  Cupids, 
Without  wings,  but  very  dirty, 
And  protuberant  in  stomachs, 
As  we  see  most  Cupids  painted  ; 
Those  that  have  their  bows  and  arrows, 
And  that  look  so  plump  and  happy, 
While  they  aim  with  deadly  vigor 
At  the  hearts  of  blushing  damsels. 
From  the  land  of  naked  babies  ; 
From  the  land  where  undressed  children 
Are  as  innocent  of  fig-leaves, 


OF   THE 


Or  of  any  other  clothing, 

As  were  both  of  their  first  parents 

Ere  they  made  their  title  cloudy 

To  that  paradise  in  Eden, 

And  forbidden  knowledge  tasting, 

In  the  form  of  fruit  seducing, 

On  the  branches  high  above  them, 

Found  —  a  thing  they  were  not  seeking  — 

Found  their  most  lamentable  fall. 


Yes,  they  come,  as  we  continue, 
From  the  land  of  hot  sunshine, 
Where  the  sun,  when  at  meridian, 
Darts     through     flesh    and     bones    and 

marrow 

With  a  force  there's  no  resisting. 
From  the  land  of  gorgeous  moonlight, 
Where  the  moon,  of  solid  silver, 
Shimmers  with  its  pale  effulgence, 
And  looks  down  on  earth  with  splendor 
Quite  unknown  in  frosty  regions. 
From  the  land  of  peerless  starlight, 
Where  the  stars  that  gem  the  heavens 
Seem  like  windows,  through  which  glory 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


And  eternal  life  descendeth 
From  the  Mercy-seat  directly, 
And  in  compensating  measure, 
To  the  suffering  souls  around  us  ; 
To  bruised  hearts  upon  this  planet. 


me. 


toaei 

From  the  land  of  rainy  seasons  ; 
From  the  land  of  many  seasons, 
Where  the  crops  succeed  each  other, 
And  without  renewing  planting, 
Or  much  cost  for  fertilizing. 
From  the  land  where  vegetation 
Is  a  gracious  and  a  free  gift 
From  the  earth's  prolific  bosom, 
Which  yields  wealth,  nor  asks  requital 
In  the  rich  soil's  restoration. 
And  this  gen'rous-hearted  mother, 
In  her  consciousness  of  duty, 
Makes  her  precious  gifts  more  precious 
By  the  way  she  decorates  them  ; 
And  she  robes  her  vegetation, 
In  this  land  of  many  seasons, 
In  the  varied  hues  that  rival 
All  the  richness  of  its  sunsets, 


144 


A   SONG   OF  THE 


All  the  colors  of  the  rainbow, 

All  the  softness  of  its  moonlight, 

All  the  grandeur  of  the  tropics  ! 

Where  the  plantain  and  its  kindred 

Feed  the  poor,  whose  purses  languish ; 

Make  luxuriant  growth  impartial, 

As  between  a  hut  or  palace ; 

Is  Republican,  in  leaning, 

Has  a  Democratic  swagger, 

Yet,  with  sturdy  independence, 

It  is  always  self-supporting. 

From  the  blessed  land  of  fragrance, 

Where  the  coffee  spreads  aroma 

Like  the  spice-groves  of  Sumatra ; 

Where  the  orange  opes  its  blossoms 

As  inviting  to  a  bridal, 

That  the  appetite  will  ravish 

With  a  figurative  union 

Of  the  spirit  and  the  body, 

In  its  fragrance  and  its  fruitage. 

Where  the  palm-tree  has  its  uses, 

Which  are  numbered  by  the  hundred  ; 

Which  the  poets  of  Assyria, 

In  their  verse,  commemorated 

As  a  use  distinct  for  each  day, 

(Less,  perhaps,  for  five  or  six  days,) 

That  we  find  embraced  in  leap-years. 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


For  the  truth  of  this  assertion, 
It  must  be  quite  sufficient 
To  refer  to  Edward  Gibbon, 
And  his  comprehensive  hist'ry 
Of  the  fall  of  Roman  empire. 
Where — as  last  for  special  mention — 
The  totz,  flamboyant,  has  glory 
That  excels  all  trees  of  forests, 
Or  of  hill-side,  or  of  garden, 
Or  its  own  acacia  genus  ; 
For  its  form  has  grace  and  power, 
Both  in  trunk  and  in  its  branches, 
And  its  shade  is  always  welcome, 
And  its  foliage  most  abundant ; 
And,  in  color  and  formation, 
Is  an  ever  new  enchantment 
For  an  eye  in  search  of  beauty, 
And  repose  in  softest  verdure  ; 
While  its  crown,  of  gorgeous  flowers, 
Seems — by  similes  permitted — 
Like  gay  butterflies  when  swarming ; 
And  in  color — twixt  bright  orange 
And  the  brightest  hue  of  scarlet — 
Makes  the  rainbow  seem  insipid, 
And  indisposed  to  linger 
Near  a  rival  that  eclipses 
E'en  the  tints  of  arc  of  promise. 
*  13 


146 


A   SONG    OF  THE 


From  the  land  of  courtly  Spaniards, 
And  of  dignified  Cubanos  ; 
Both  are  called,  here,  caballeros, 
Whether  riding  upon  horses 
Or  on  mares  we  know  as  shanks'. 
And  while  talking  about  riding, 
Be  it  known  that  Cuban  horses 
Are  a  blessed  institution, 
And  are  gentle  in  their  natures 
As  some  golden-haired  young  misses ; 
May  be  ridden  by  young  children 
With  the  ease  of  rocking-horses, 
And  with  little  more  of  danger. 
And  a  sight  that's  not  infrequent, 
As  appropriate,  at  present, 
As  a  proof  of  bold  assertion, 
Is  a  youth  securely  mounted, 
Riding  at  an  easy  canter, 
Or  a  run  that  might  be  racing 
If  it  was  a  little  faster, 
With  a  glass  of  pure  fresh  water, 
Or,  perhaps,  of  something  stronger, 
In  his  hand,  with  arm  extended  ; 
And  the  crystal  never  losing, 
By  the  jar  of  rapid  motion, 
E'en  a  single  drop  of  water, 
Or  of  any  other  fluid 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  l^j 

That  the  lad  had  filled  it  up  with ; 

Though  the  Cubans  are  poor  drinkers, — 

That's  of  alcoholic  liquors, — 

And  they're  rarely  known  as  drunkards ; 

But  they  drink  their  share  of  red  wine — 

The  Catalan  or  Navarro — 

At  their  breakfasts  and  their  dinners, 

(And  they  take,  here,  only  two  meals,) 

And  they  drink  their  milk  and  coffee, 

Or  their  milk  without  their  coffee, 

Or  they  take  their  coffee  solot — 

That's  alone  and  black  as  midnight, — 

At  all  hours  and  all  seasons, 

With  a  zest  completely  unctuous, 

And  tee-to-tally  delightful 

To  the  army  of  good  women, 

To  the  true  Salvation  Army, 

To  the  advocates  of  temperance ; 

Who  don't  waste  much  time  on  curbstones, 

With  equivocal  surroundings, 

Howling  loud  extravaganzas 

To  the  chronic  ragamuffins  : 

Giving  low-priced  entertainments 

To  the  rag>  tag>  and  the  bobtail; 

And  thus  proving  beyond  question 

An  intoxicated  manner, — 

An  intemperate  condition. 


148 


A   SONG    OF  THE 


And  still  more  upon  this  subject ; 
Near  akin  to  gentle  horses ; 
More  akin  to  rocking-horses, 
Is  that  wonderful  invention, 
That  most  blessed  of  inventions, 
Yankee  rocking-chair  invention, 
Which  hails  Cuba  its  god-father, 
And,  likewise,  its  foster-mother ; 
For  'tis  patronized  in  Cuba, 
With  a  patronage  so  lib'ral 
That  no  house  is  fully  furnished, 
No,  nor  any  decent  office, 
That's  not  quite  alive  with  rockers ; 
With  extensive  arm-rest  rockers, 
With  large  cane-seated  rockers  ; 
With  broad  and  high-backed  rockers ! 
Which  are  ranged  in  rows  of  sixes, 
And  by  nines  arranged  at  parties, 
Or,  at  times,  in  fewer  numbers, 
And  arranged  in  rows  opposing, — 
That's  a  vis-a-vis  arrangement, — 
And  the  sexes  are  divided 
By  the  space  between  the  rockers, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


Say  by  three,  or  four,  or  six  feet  ; 
And  they  look  like  boys  and  maidens 
Bouncing  boys  and  buxom  maidens  — 
At  their  school  and  at  their  lessons  ; 
And  they  rock  with  rocks  unceasing, 
Which,  like  Scylla  and  Charybdis 
Threaten  shipwreck  to  Ulysses, 
Or  to  any  foreign  misses 
Not  well  skilled  in  navigation, 
'Twixt  these  rocks  of  ceaseless  motion. 


From  the  land  of  boniatos, — 
What  a  name  for  sweet-potatoes ! 
From  the  land  of  figs  and  mangoes, 
And  of  cocoanuts  by  ship-loads ; 
Of  mahogany  and  cedar ; 
Of  boleros  and  fandangos, 
And  some  improvised  queer  music, 
From  some  instruments  peculiar; 
Rather  strange  \a  prima  donnas  ; 
Not  well  known  to  figuerantes  ; 
Hardly  fit  for  sacred  anthems  ; 
Not  quite  up  to  oratorios, 
Yet  might  voice  forth  hallelujahs, — 


!  50  A   SONG    OF  THE 

(Which  are  gushings  of  the  spirit 
That  no  special  forms  require, — ) 
And  deserving  special  mention 
For  ingenious  contriving, 
And  as  rare  desideratum 
For  burlesque  and  opera  bouffe. 
Think  of  this, — restraining  laughter, — 
Think  of  rasping  on  a  tin  pan 
Miniatured  from  speaking-trumpet, 
With  a  crooked  ear-trumpet's  form  ! 
Beating  hides  across  old  buckets ; 
Blowing  blasts  in  olive  bottles  ; 
In  those  conical  stone  bottles, 
Which  are  comical  stone  bottles ! 
All  which  instruments  orchestral, 
With  the  aid  of  a  triangle 
And  a  mammoth-sized  accordion, 
Make  a  band  that  can't  be  sneezed  at, 
When  a  sneezing  vein's  not  handy  ; 
Make  some  very  lively  music, 
Played  by  artists  in  light  costume, 
Such  as  pants,  and  shirt,  and  waistcoats, 
(Waistcoats  are  not  deemed  essential,) 
And  in  shoes  and,  sometimes,  half-hose ; 
Though  some  independent  artists 
Proudly  scorn  both  hose  and  vestings, 
And  do  all  of  their  investing-s 


CUBAN   BAND. 


Page-  150. 


ISLE  OF  CUBA. 


Closer  to  primeval  nature  ; 
Thinking,  with  an  English  poet, 


That  sophisticated  beauty 
Is  a  thing  to  be  avoided  ; 
While,  when  beauty's  most  denuded, — 
Stripped  of  all  superfluous  garments, — 
'Tis  most  highly  decorated, 
Or  adorned,  then,  most  completely, 
And  commands  most  admiration, 
When  'tis  said,  and  said  demurely, 
"To  the  pure  all  things  are  pure,"  as 
Eve's  reception  of  her  Adam  : 
Adam's  presence  at  Eve's  bridal. 
Such  the  lessons  of  aesthetics," 
Whose  new  school's  the  decollettish, — 
Founded  on  the  Eden  fig-leaf! 
These  instruct  the  mantua-makers, 
In  their  decollette  designings, 
By  which  shoulders,  necks,  and  bosoms, 
Not  to  mention  backs  and  armpits, 
Are  displayed  to  best  advantage, 
To  encourage  pious  musings, 
And  immaculate  conceptions, 


z  A   SONG    OF   THE 

And  a  host  of  holy  thinkings 
About  canonized  precursors, 
And  the  beautiful  madonnas, 
And  the  Magdalens  so  tearful, 
(Who  gave  up  the  undressed  fashion 
When  they  earned  their  saintly  titles, 
In  the  thorny  paths  of  duty,) 
And  to  conquer  carnal  longings, 
And  to  chasten  sensuous  feelings, 
And  extinguish  fleshly  passions 
When  they  blaze  up  like  volcanoes, 
And  to  petrify  the  lava, 
Which,  in  streams  of  liquid  fire, 
Flowing  from  a  burning  crater, 
Makes  the  human  heart  its  fountain  ! 
And  to  turn  it  into  crystals, 
Through  which  purity  like  Dian's, 
Or  like  white  sands  of  the  ocean, 
May  be  seen  as  "thing  of  beauty," 
Yes,  and  as  a  "joy  forever !" 

Oh,  there's  nothing  so  improving 
As  the  undressed  style  of  dressing  ! 
The  emancipating  nature 
From  its  antiquated  fetters ; 
From  its  artificial  fetters. 
And  as  instance  edifying, 
And,  besides,  as  illustrating 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  ^ 

This  most  self-apparent  problem, — 

There  is  nothing  purifying, 

Not  on  earth  nor  up  in  heaven, 

But  has  got  its  firm  foundation 

On  the  Naked  Truth  established ! 

Now,  are  maidens  more  than  angels  ? 

Who,  in  this,  are  decollettish, 

Though  no  "  Demorest"  they  follow, 

And  no  fashion-plates  they  publish ; 

But  wear  always  robes  transparent ; 

Garments  so  extremely  gauzy, 

That  they  never  would  be  mentioned, 

Save  that,  in  angelic  parlance, 

"  Robes     of    Righteousness"     they     call 

them ; 

And  there's  no  one  blames  the  angels, 
Or  pretends  that  their  apparel 
Squints  at  all  at  the  immodest ; 
Could  be  charged  as  the  immoral  ; 
Or  be  blamed  as  the  indecent. 
Then  let  decollette  apparel : 
Let  bare  arms  and  naked  shoulders, 
And  et  caeteras  and  et  caeteras, 
Flash  like  light  across  the  visions, 
And  delight  our  sober  senses, 
Till  they  ache  with  moral  yearning, 
And  exhale  divine  afflatus ! 


154 


A   SONG    OF  THE 


Let  them  be  the  "joy  forever," 

As  the  episodes  of  beauty, 

And  the  germ  of  pure  platonics, 

And  as  antidotes  to  evil ! 

Only  let  them  stop  descending, 

Now  that  shoulder-straps  have  left  them 

With  no  upper-works  to  hold  them ; 

For  we  know  that  things  descending 

Have  accelerated  motion, 

And  if  decollettish  fashions 

Give  an  increase  of  momentum 

As  approaching  to  earth's  centre, 

With  their  gravity  astounding, 

And  our  gravity  astounded, 

They'll  make  facial  transformations 

As  a  matter  prima  facie, 

Then  draw  corners  of  our  mouths  up ; 

Start  all  diaphragms  vibrating, 

Make  us  smile,  and  smile  grotesquely ; 

Make  us  laugh,  in  laughing  spasms  ; 

Fill  our  smooth  skins  full  of  wrinkles, 

Formed  by  sternutating  grinnings  ; 

Urge  our  hearts,  and  lungs,  and  livers 

To  a  state  of  inflammation ; 

Set  our  backs  and  spines  to  aching, 

And  our  ribs  to  much  protesting 

'Gainst  a  threatened  visitation 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


J55 


Of  acute  rheumatic  twinges, 
Or  of  merciless  lumbago. 

But,  a  truce  to  moralizing, 
When  that  Cuban  band  is  waiting, 
With  its  instruments  peculiar, 
With  its  sans-culottish  costumes, 
Which,  though  scant,  demand  no  pity, 
For  that  band  is  no  banditti, 
But  excites  mild  admiration, 
Rising,  sometimes,  through  gradations, 
To  a  state  of  blank  amazement 
That  would  strike  the  ghost  of  Mozart , 
Appal  Meyerbeer  or  Haydn, 
Roll  great  Handel  in  his  coffin, 
Set  Mendelssohn  to  prancing, 
Draw  forth  shrieks  from  Donizetti, 
Or  from  Verdi,  or  Bellini ; 
But  would  meet  with  loud  approval 
From    that    school    that's    called    "The 

Future ;" 

That  uproarious  school  of  Wagner's, 
The  composer  of  "the  Future," 
Whose  free  spirit  darts  at  random 
Through  the  planetary  system, 
Piling  Pelion  upon  Ossa, 
Making  melodies  for  maelstroms  ; 
Lively  waltzes  for  the  cyclones ; 


156 


A   SONG    OF  THE 


Soothing  serenades  for  earthquakes  ; 
Grand  marches  for  the  world's  end, 
When  the  seven  seals  are  broken  ; 
And  the  comets  paralyzing, 
By  his  grand  instrumentations, 
Which  halt  all  the  little  Pleiades 
With  the  fiat  of  a  prophet, 
And  make  cataclysms  preachers 
At  the  strait-laced  Quaker-meetings,- 
At  all  coming  peace-conventions. 
But  our  band  of  olive  bottles, 
Of  tin  pans  and  wooden  buckets, 
Of  accordions  and  triangles, 
Makes  very  lively  music 
For  the  light  fantastic  figures, 
And  for  toes  light  and  fantastic, 
Of  the  raven -haired  hidalgos, 
With  luxuriant  moustaches, 
And  for  lovely  senoritas, 
Floating  through  their  mazy  dances, 
Sui  generis  in  their  style : 
In  their  style  of  dancing  figures  ; 
In  their  purely  Cuban  steps, 
Which  are  most  serenely  graceful, — 
Like  a  rivulet's  gentle  swell, 
Or  like  drap'ry  swelled  by  zephyrs 
In  the  young  moon's  silv'ry  sheen. 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


Hark !  can  this  be  fact  or  fancy, 
That  so  swells  upon  the  breezes, 
Like  some  hoofs  a  poet  mentions, 
That  come  tramping  o'er  the  hill-tops  ? 
Are  those  sounds,  now  heard,  but  dream- 
ings  ? 

Are  those  tones  of  fearful  boding 
Mere  imagination's  echoes  ? 
Only  frightful  apparitions, 
Like  the  ghosts  that  tortured  Richard, 
Or  the  dagger  leading  Macbeth 
To  the  bedside  of  King  Duncan  ? 
They  are  such,  or  demonstration 
Of  a  fact  there's  no  ignoring. 
By  a  real  peace  apostle, 
Who  professes  vague  objection 
To  a  storm  of  ugly  phrases, 
Or  to  murmurs  of  displeasure. 
Still,  methinks,  are  heard  loud  voices, 
Raised  in  earnest  protestation 
'Gainst  imagination  stark  mad  ! 
'Gainst  protracted  quarter-sections, 
14 


158 


A   SONG    OF  THE 


And  abortive  lame  instalments, 
Such  as  this  of  the  Cubanos, 
Smoking  mild  or  strong  tabacos  ; 
Which  they  do  in  halls  and  parlors, 
And  in  presence  of  the  ladies, 
Whose  refinement's  never  startled 
By  the  fumigating  process  ; 
But  regards  it  as  a  custom 
Which,  as  husbands  mostly  practice, 
'Twould  be  squeamish  to  object  to 
In  preliminary  courtship, 
Or  in  tolerated  friendship  : 
So,  the  gentlemen,  thus  licensed, 
Have  no  scruple  about  smoking, 
Either  mild  or  strong  tabacos, 
Though  they  like  best  the  cigarros, — 
Things  rolled  up  in  slips  of  paper, 
Which  our  rising  generation 
Is  quite  apt  in  imitating ; 
But  'tis  cigarettes  we  call  them  ; 
Though  the  name  is  little  matter, 
As  fair  Juliet  tells  her  Romeo, 
When  she  speaks  to  him  of  roses 
Smelling  sweet  by  other  titles. 

There  is  now  no  more  delusion  ; 
Fate,  itself,  is  not  more  certain ; 
There's  no  doubt  about  those  voices, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


159 


Or  their  remonstrating  accents : 

And  their  earnest  protestations 

Are  not  subdued  like  Romeo's, — 

When  he  wants  to  be  a  gauntlet, 

Like  a  Sara  Bernhardt  gauntlet ; 

Or,  perhaps,  a  Langtry  gauntlet, 

Or  a  sixteen-button  gauntlet, 

Or  a  fancy-colored  glovelet, 

On  fair  Juliet's  rosy  fingers  : 

Or  would  be  as  well  contented 

As  a  freckle  on  her  forehead, — 

As  the  daintiest  of  mole-spots 

On  her  cheek  of  rarest  peach-blown  ; 

On  her  chin  so  sweetly  dimpled ! 

And,  so  dying  to  be  near  her — 

As  her  perforated  plaster, — 

Perforated  by  Dan  Cupid — 

That  his  compromising  spirit 

Would  consent  to  be  a  slipper, 

Or  a  flower  that  she  trod  on, 

As  she  rambled  through  the  garden : 

A  forget-me-not  he'd  rather, 

But  would  be  a  dandelion, 

Just  to  be  her  dandy-lion, 

If  she'd  take  him  as  her  poodle, 

Or  just  pet  him  as  her  lion, 

Or  just  be  his  little  lambkin, 


A    SONG    OF  THE 


Or  confess  her  love  for  lions  ! 
For  a  lover  is  a  noodle, 
When  he's  first  inoculated 
With  the  tender-passion's  virus  : 
Which  begets  delirium  tremens 

o 

Of  an  aggravated  nature, 
And  leads  often  to  dyspepsia,  — 
That's  the  appetite's  destruction,  — 
And  assails  a  vital  organ  ; 
Which  may  lead  to  the  contraction, 
If  it  don't  make  sure  enlargement, 
(By  affections  sympathetic, 
Which  should  grow  in  time  organic,) 
Of  the  muscular  machin'ry 
Called  the  human  heart  by  science  ; 
Called  "  the  home  of  soul"  by  poets, 
When  they  crown  the  soul  as  monarch 
O'er  both  brain  and  heart  of  mortals. 
But  these  voices  are  not  Romeo's, 
Nor  like  zephyrs  among  harp-strings, 
Nor  like  "E"  flutes  heard  by  moonlight 
Heard  at  midnight's  witching  hour, 
Playing  "  Trovatore"  music  ; 
Breaking  hearts  with  "  misererts" 
Drawing  tears  like  corks  from  bottles, 
When  the  champagne's  running  freely  ! 
And  the  tears  that  flow  to  music, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  I(yl 

Gush  from  Pleasure's  painless  fountains, — 
Mark  such  dear  delicious  pain-throbs, 
That  they  waken  only  gladness, 
Which  proclaims  the  pain  is  sham-pain. 

Still,  those  vocal  sounds  mean  business, 
And  they  rumble  with  much  growling, 
And  are  mixed  with  ugly  groanings 
'Gainst  more  labored  dissertations 
Of  the  Dons  and  the  Hidalgos  ; 
Of  the  slender  senoritas, 
Whose  exceeding  high-heeled  slippers 
Make  them  stand  upon  their  tiptoes, 
And  encourage  growing  corncrops 
On  their  small-sized  understandings^ 
Which,  absurdly  elevated, 
By  impartial  regulation, 
In  a  line  below  the  instep, 
Make  the  donas  seem  like  toddlers, 
When  they  think  they  look  like  walkers. 

Oh,  those  cruel  high-heeled  slippers ! 
Whose  thin  soles  must  be  considered 
As  a  paradox  protesting 
Against  ruined  understandings  ! 
Oh,  those  irreligious  slippers ! 
Which  are  libels  on  Dame  Nature ; 
Which  assert  that  ancient  madam 
Was  entirely  mistaken 


A   SONG    OF   THE 


When,  in  moulding  Mrs.  Adam, 

To  be  Adam's  consolation, 

She  most  carelessly  omitted 

Placing  heels  beyond  proportion 

In  the  hollows  of  her  two  feet  ! 

Oh,  those  unbelieving  slippers  ! 

They  ignore  the  Scripture  teachings, 

And  assume  that  the  Creator 

Was  imperfect  in  designing 

The  great  work  he  executed. 

Oh,  those  altitud'nous  gaiters  !  — 

Only  fit  for  alligators, 

Or  for  some  such  stupid  creatures, 

Who  don't  know  when  a  shoemaker 

Laughs  at  building  up  caprices, 

And  at  follies  that  he  builds  up  ;  — 

Worn  by  slender  senoritas, 

And  by  corpulent  madonas,  — 

These  the  ladies  who  are  married, 

Who    their    friends    call    by    their    first 

names,  — 

Friends,  that  is,  of  both  the  sexes,  — 
And  this  starts  on  first  acquaintance  ; 
And  e'en  children  are  familiar 
With  madonas  and  grown  daughters  ! 
Call  them  Liiz,  or  Enriqueta  ; 
Or  Malvina,  or  Teresa  ; 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


Or  Luisa,  or  Dolores  ; 
Or  Virginia,  or  Maria  ; 
Rosalia,  or  Couchita  ; 
Or  Felicia,  or  Mercedes  ; 
Call  them  anything  but  "  Madam," 
Call  them  anything  but  "  Mistress," 
And,  as  compliment  to  maidens, 
Not  a  maiden  is  a  "  miss"  here. 
How  annoying  are  those  urgents ! 
Threat' ning  soon  to  grow  insurgents 
If  their  wishes  are  not  bowed  to, 
If  they  don't  get  leave  of  absence, 
If  their  warning  is  not  heeded  ; 
And  that  warning  must  be  heeded, 
Or  those  voices  must  be  smothered,— 
Like  the  still  small  voice  of  conscience, 
Or  the  princes  in  the  Tower, — 
Lest  they  raise  a  dreadful  riot, 
And  refuse  more  quarter-sections, 
And  ignore  conceived  instalments, 
Trying  flights  on  feeble  pinions. 

67±.&O-/tO41ltC(l€. 

£r       7 

But,  ere  this  instalment  closes, 
Like  young  Love  among  the  roses, 
When  he  titillates  the  noses ; 


T54  A    SONG    OF   THE 

Plays  the  mischief  with  affections 

That  will  agitate  the  maidens  ; 

Its  last  thoughts  are  tow'rds  those  maidens ; 

Tow'rds  those  tender  buds  and  blossoms, 

Who,  in  Cuba,  are  imprisoned 

Like  menageried  hyenas, 

Or  like  royal  Bengal  tigers, 

Behind  iron  bars  like  cages : 

Iron  bars  that  cross  the  windows, 

Which,  in  size,  are  like  huge  barn-doors, — 

Reaching  oft  from  eaves  to  pavement, — 

Through  which  wagons  may  be  driven 

Without  touching  sides  or  roofing ; 

And,  when  open,  make  the  insides 

Like  the  outsides  of  the  houses, 

In  their  proneness  to  inspection, 

And  to  entrance  of  all  noises, 

That  resound,  and  without  respite, 

From  the  morn  to  dewy  evening. 

True  it  is,  those  barn-door  windows, 

With  their  many  upright  irons, 

And  some  horizontal  pieces, 

Adding  strength,  but  little  beauty, 

To  the  prison-like  appearance 

Of  those  free-and-easy  mansions  ; 

Those  monopolizing  windows, 

Without  sash  and  without  glazing, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


165 


Are  protected  by  those  irons 
From  impertinent  invasion, 
Of  sneak-thieves  and  daring  robbers  ; 
And  are  graced  with  inside  shutters, 
Which,  till  bedtime,  are  thrown  open- 
When  the  sun  is  not  intrusive — 
As  a  means  of  ventilation, 
When  the  heat  is  quite  oppressive, 
Which  it  always  is  in  summer, — 
Say  from  April  to  November ; 
Yet  the  nights  are  not  unpleasant, 
Though  the  days  bring  perspiration, 
Which  is  not  at  all  refreshing, 
And  is  hardly  deemed  improving 
To  the  set  of  men's  shirt-collars, 
Or  the  starch  in  their  shirt-bosoms, 
Or  to  any  kind  of  clothing 
That  demands  its  weekly  washing. 
Thus  it  is  until  November, 
When  the  mercury  gets  falling, 
Going,  sometimes,  to  the  "  sixties," 
And  is  never  high  in  winter ; 
Which  makes  winter  as  delightful 
As  the  mind  can  well  conceive  it : 
So  congenial  and  balmy 
That  imaginative  vision, 
With  slight  telescopic  power, 


!66  A   SONG    OF  THE 

Might,  in  momentary  rapture, 
A  new  paradise  baptize  it, 
Were  it  not  for  some  few  drawbacks, 
That  already  have  been  mentioned. 
But,  as  the  French  say  in  their  language, 
When  they  mean  resuming  subjects, — 
Revenons  a  nos  moutons, — 
Let's  return,  now,  to  our  young  sheep — 
To  our  lambs — in  their  barred  windows, 
Where  they  look  like  birds  in  cages ; 
Where  they  only  see  their  lovers 
(That's  the  rule  till  they're  accepted) 
For  their  interviews  so  blissful. 

Oh,  those  tantalizing  irons 
Which     the    darlings     must     be    kissed 

through ! 

They  repel  divine  embraces, 
And  cause  hearts  to  vainly  languish 
For  a  passionate  compression ; 
For  a  kind  of  Cupid's  corsets, 
That  are  always  so  elastic 
That  they  never  hurt  the  figure  ; 
But  support  it  and  sustain  it 
Like  an  India-rubber  cushion, 
And  that  fits  as  snugly  to  it 
As  the  neatest  glove  imagined, 
That  has  been  upon  a  stretcher 


ISLE   OF  CUBA.  } 

To  get  on  without  a  wrinkle. 
And  those  bars  will  be  recalling 
The  familiar  old  Greek  fable 
Of  fair  Thisbe  and  Pyramus, 
And  the  aperture  so  jealous 
In  that  abominable  wall ; 
Not  to  mention  the  lost  clothing 
Of  the  daring  young  Pyramus, 
Or  the  flower  he  faintly  christened, 
And  flung  to  Thisbe  as  he  died ! 
The  same  flower  which  tradition 
Says,  in  accents  sympathetic, 
Was  borne  gently,  by  the  Peris 
Of  the  Hellespontic  waters, 
To  the  poor  distracted  maiden, 
As  she  heard  her  lost  love  crying, — 
"  Take  this  flower,  with  my  last  sigh, 
And  oh,  my  love,  forget-me-not !" 

Yes,  'tis  sad  to  see  these  maidens, 
As  a  stranger  mostly  sees  them, 
In  the  gloaming,  and  the  twilight ; 
In  the  starlight,  and  the  gaslight ; 
In  the  kerosene,  and  moonlight ; 
In  the  naphtha,  and  the  diplight ; 
Gazing  through  their  bars  of  iron, 
Sitting  in  those  ample  windows, 
Stepping  quite  across  the  windows, 


Z68  A   SONG    OF  THE 

With  a  various  kind  of  stepping  : 

Like  the  fierce  Numidian  lion, 

Or  the  agile  kangaroo  ; 

Like  the  cloud-dividing  eagle, 

Or  the  dove  with  its  plaintive  "  coo  ;" 

Like  a  mourner  at  a  fun'ral, 

Or  like  a  boy  who  plays  "  hop-scotch ;" 

Or  like  some  well-devised  machine 

That  runs  regular  like  a  watch ; 

But  never  like  a  Yankee  girl, 

With  her  songs  as  blithe  as  linnet's, 

Whose  hours  pass  so  rapidly 

She's  scarce  conscious  of  the  minutes. 

While  these  Cuban  senoritas, 

Who  are  so  rarely  on  the  street 

That  they  startle  caballeros, 

When  they  may  caballeros  meet ; 

And  they're  always  with  duennas, 

And  are  watched  by  them  so  closely, 

That  the  air  is  made  suspicious, 

And  says,  "  Virtue  needs  much  watching !" 

An  assertion  most  insulting 

To  the  mothers  that  have  borne  them  ; 

To  the  sisters  they  should  cherish, 

And,  indeed,  to  all  true  women, 

Who  are  virtuous  by  instinct, 

And  by  education  virtuous : 


ISLE    OF  CUBA. 


169 


Who  should  have  freedom  of  all  cities ; 

Have  the  right  to  travel  freely, 

And  in  man  find  a  protector, 

From  the  shadow  e'en  of  insult : 

A  protector  like  a  father ; 

A  protector  like  a  brother, 

Who,  with  stalwart  blow,  and  downright, 

Will  lay  the  sin-verguenza,  low ; 

Will  lay  the  interloper  low ; 

Knock  the  villain  in  the  gutter ; 

Toss  the  coward  in  a  mud-cart ; 

Place  an  iron  heel  upon  him ; 

Feed  his  carcass  to  the  vultures. 


To  avoid  all  misconception 
Of  malevolent  intention, 
E'en  in  mental  reservation, 
As  in  critical  avowal, 
Be  it  known  by  proclamation, 
Freely  made,  without  suggestion, 
Save  spontaneous  combustion 
In  a  heart  that's  always  truthful, 
Making  grand  illumination 
Of  the  feelings  and  the  motives 
15 


r0  A   SONG   OF  THE 

Of  a  seeker  after  knowledge, 
Who  this  cheerfully  endorses, — 
This  bona  fides  brief  disclaimer, 
On  the  part  of  Estrangero, 
To  his  gen'rous  friends  in  Cuba. 

Naught  he  sets  down  in  unkindness 
Not  a  word  he  spoke  in  malice ; 
No  descriptions  highly-colored ; 
Rarely  is  exaggerated, 
Save  to  reach  a  piquant  standard ; 
And,  if  painted  with  some  humor, 
Always  tinted  with  good  humor, 
And  its  lights  and  shadows  truthful, 
As  the  facts  from  which  they  issue ; 
And  which  facts  can't  be  disputed. 
Nothing's  meant  in  the  least  painful ; 
Nothing  wounding  to  the  feelings, — 
Save,  perhaps,  to  morbid  feelings, 
Fed  on  crude,  unwholesome  diet, 
And  on  fruits  as  green  as  grass  is ; 
Craving  candies  and  confections, 
Made  piquant  by  deadly  poisons ; 
Made  attractive  by  much  scarlet, 
And,  than  verdigris  more  verdant ; 
And,  to  such  poor  sickly  fancies, 
Needing  much  the  skilful  treatment 
Of  the  family  physician. 


ISLE  OF  CUBA. 


171 


E'en  with  these  this  verse  is  tender, 
And  takes  pride  in  oft  repeating ; 
And  with  reason  it  repeats,  that 
Nothing  wounding  to  the  feelings 
Can  be  found  in  these  descriptions, — 
Nothing  that  reflects  on  manhood ; 
Naught  of  women  disrespectful  ; 
But  the  incidents  of  climate, 
The  traditions  of  a  people, 
And  the  customs  differential, 
All  demand  that  truth  be  spoken. 

"Tell  the  truth  and  shame  the  devil  1" 
Is  a  splendid  chart  to  sail  by 
In  voyage  o'er  life's  ocean  ; 
And,  in  storms  or  balmy  weather, 
Nail  the  Old  Boy  to  the  counter ; 
Clinch  him  till  there's  no  escaping ; 
Stimulate  Satanic  blushes ; 
Make  him  haul  his  ugly  horns  in ; 
Mutilate  that  forked  organ 
That  he  fabricates  his  lies  with ; 
Pull  the  boots  from  off  his  old  hoofs ; 
Take  his  tail  to  low-down  grog-shops, 
Where  they  retail  evil  spirits  ; 
Or  let  butchers  cut,  and  share  it 
Out  to  'coons  and  cunning  foxes ; 
Draw  his  teeth  by  awkward  dentists ; 


172 


A   SONG   OF   THE 


Give  his  "  photos"  to  "  detectives 
In  rogue's  galleries  impale  him, 
And,  in  every  other  manner, 
Treat  him  like  a  street-car  driver 
Like  a  mule  that's  overdriven  ; 
Like  a  poor  boy  at  a  frolic  ; 
As  a  laughing-stock  expose  him 
To  the  scorn  of  all  creation. 


Now  the  people  are  rebelling  ; 
Claiming  they  are  overdriven, 
And  indignant  at  this  pother, 
At  this  waste  of  time  on  nothing  ; 
Raising  tempests  in  small  teapots, 
Making  mountains  groan  in  labor, 
Just  to  bring  forth  little  white  mice  ; 
At  abuse  of  "  Hiawatha," 
And  of  Hiawatha's  poet, 
(The  grand  poet  we  all  love  so,) 
In  the  use  of  the  same  measure 
Hiawatha's  tale  is  told  in  : 
Making  free  with  its  sweet  measure 
Without  leave  from  its  sweet  poet. 
And  these  people  must  be  answered, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


173 


And  must  pause  and  hear  an  answer, 

As  a  simple  act  of  justice, 

Which  they'll  ne'er  be  found  refusing. 

What's  the  charge  preferred  against  us  ? 
"  Using  Hiawatha's  measure  !" 
Guilty,  sirs,  and  yet  NOT  GUILTY  ! 
" Lucus"  sirs,  "a  non  lucendo  T 
Surely  this  cannot  be  sinful ! 
Or  if  sinful,  then  all  poets, 
Of  all  ages  and  all  nations, 
Are  amongst  the  greatest  sinners  ; 
For  they  all  have  used  the  metres 
Other  poets  have  invented. 
All  the  imagery  of  Scriptures, 
Draping  thoughts  of  inspiration, 
Follow  forms  that  Egypt  furnished, 
Or  that  Babylon  had  borrowed 
From  the  poets  of  Chaldea. 
Homer,  who  had  been  the  model 
Of  all  poets  and  pretenders, 
Since  the  days  when  fickle  Helen 
Fled  to  Paris  from  her  liege  lord, — 
Homer,  too,  his  grand  thoughts  freighted, 
Doubtless,  o'er  the  roads  constructed 
By  some  unknown  bards,  more  ancient 
Than  frail  Helen  and  the  Trojans. 
Byron,  if  this  accusation 
'5* 


174 


A   SONG    OF   THE 


Damages  our  Estrangero, — 
Byron,  then,  has  damaged  Spenser 
In  his  poem  of  "  Childe  Harold ;" 
Shelley's  quite  beyond  salvation  ; 
Milton's  blindness  cannot  save  him ; 
Pope  has  copied  many  measures, 
And  Saint  Peter  cannot  help  him ! 
While  the  very  Bard  of  Avon, — 
The  anatomist  of  Nature, — 
The  immortal  poet  Shakspeare, — 
The  world's  light  through  all  the  ages, 
He,  too,  must  be  wrecked  and  ruined 
By  this  reckless  condemnation  ; 
Or,  perhaps,  some  carping  critics, — 
Paragons  of  wit  and  learning, — 
Grand  high-priests  among  wiseacres, 
Have  decreed,  in  solemn  conclave, 
That  the  Cuban  Estrangero 
Has  no  civil  rights  worth  naming, 
(By  decision  like  "  Dred  Scott"  case,) 
Not,  at  least,  by  would-be  Solons. 
So  they'll  vote  him  disrespectful, 
(He,  alone,  poor  Estrangero  /) 
And  presumptuous,  in  attempting 
Such  a  fearful  desecration, 
As  to  run  his  locomotive 
O'er  Longfellow's  self-constructed, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


175 


Easy-running,  patent  railroad, 
Just  to  show,  in  the  home  market, 
His  own  cars,  with  his  own  thinkings, 
Brought  from  Cuba  for  an  airing. 


Oh,  these  scribes  of  oily  jargon  ! 
Oh,  these  Pharisees  so  righteous  ! 
Oh,  these  "  Daniels  come  to  judgment  !" 
Dare  they  think  such  thoughts  as  these 

are? 

Dare  they  breathe  that  accusation, 
That  our  poet's  desecrated 
By  a  stranger  s  veneration  ? 
Which  is  all  he  means,  adopting 
Hiawatha's  flowing  measure  ; 
And  he  claims  to  worship,  nearly, 
Hiawatha's  noble  poet, 
For  his  goodness  and  his  greatness  ; 
For  the  treasures  of  his  fancy, 
And  the  wealth  he  freely  lavished 
From  his  mind's  exhaustless  storehouse, 
For  humanity's  improvement: 
To  alleviate  its  pain-throbs  ; 
And,  by  "  Psalm  of  Life,"  instructing,  — 


!76  A   SONG   OF  THE 

Teaching  it  in  one  sweet  lesson 
How  to  live  here,  and  to  die  here. 


Surely,  for  such  cranks,  'twere  gracious 

To  remit  them  to  the  care  of 

Those  evangels  of  the  hour, 

Who,  'tis  said,  will  soon  depart  for — 

On  a  mission  fraught  with  mercy — 

The  famed  "  Coral  Strand"  of  India. 

Send  them  off  to  Brother  Moody, 

Or  that  charming  singer — Sankey, 

Who  makes  naughty  cranks  less  cranky 

Teach  them  gospel  of  salvation, 

Which  is  action,  ever  action ; 

Which  is  work,  and  without  ceasing, 

For  the  poor  in  purse  and  spirit. 

And  if  Moody  will  accept  them, 

And  if  Sankey  don't  reject  them, 

As  examples  to  be  prayed  for  ! 

They  will  prove  themselves  deserving 

Of  the  eclat  that  attends  them 

In  their  circumnavigation ; 

In  their  travels  on  their  missions, 

Calling  loudly  on  the  heathen, 


ISLE  OF  CUBA. 


177 


(And,  like  Orpheus  of  old  did, 

Gaining  proselytes  by  music,) 

In  their  sacred  songs  and  speeches, 

And  instructing  them  in  music. 

And  the  heathen  are  not  only 

Those  who  never  read  the  Bible ; 

For  the  very  worst  of  heathens 

Are  the  ones  who,  by  their  motives, 

Show  their  faith  is  but  pretension ; 

Who  won't  "  bear  their  cross'*  and  follow 

In  the  footsteps  of  their  Saviour ; 

Who  don't  grasp  the  thoughts  He  taught 

them  ; 

Who  don't  live  the  life  He  patterned ; 
Who    don't    keep    their    little     "lamps 

trimmed," 

And  won't  shelter  little  stray  lambs ; 
Never  feed  the  sick  and  hungry, 
Or  attempt  to  clothe  the  naked ; 
Yet  who  boldly  seek  their  Master, 
And,  with  bloated  air  of  goodness, 
Meant  to  call  divine  attention 
To  their  sanctified  perfections  ; 
With  the  look  of  claimed  dominion, 
And  of  right  none  dare  deny  them, — 
Approach  fearlessly  His  mansion  ; 
Dust  their  shoes  with  'broidered  kerchief; 


!^3  A   SONG    OF  THE 

Deck  their  lips  with  smiles  and  simpers  ; 
Smooth  their  lovely  locks  and  whiskers  ; 
Twirl  their  dapper  little  canes  round  ; 
And  then  knock,  like  penny  postman, 
With  no  claim  to  free  admission,  — 
Without  faintest  right  of  entrance  ; 
With  presumption  which  Saint  Peter 
Needs  no  hints  to  be  rebuking  ; 
Which  deserves,  and  may  receive,  too, 
A  most  fitting  compensation 
From  a  well-conditioned  sandal, 
With  a  thick  and  very  hard  sole, 
Doing  justice  to  a  hard  soul 
That  no  charity  had  softened  ; 
That  no  sympathy  had  kindled  ; 
That  no  pity  had  unsteadied  ; 
That  no  mercy  had  prevailed  on  ; 
That  no  brotherhood  would  welcome. 


And  they  say  —  these  testy  people  — 
That  they've  heard  enough  of  Cuba  ; 
That  this  bashful  Estrangero 
Is  a  case  of  meningitis, 
Is  a  Yankee  Don  Quixote,  — 
(Call,  oh  !  call  this  Don  Key-ho-tee, 


ISLE  OF  CUBA.  l^ 

Or  you  ruin  name  and  language, 

And  you  amputate  the  measure, — 

Make  it  limp  or  go  on  crutches, — ) 

Is  a  Yankee  Don  Quixote, 

But  without  his  Sancho  Panza, 

(Who  was  such  a  funny  fellow; 

Who  was  better  than  a  circus,) 

Tilting  wildly  at  old  wind-mills, 

Which    should   knock  his   addled   brains 

out; 

Who  deserves,  like  Sancho  Panza, 
To  be  tossed  up  in  a  blanket 
Till  he  could  not  know  what  hurt  him, 
When,  to  earth  again  located, 
He  would  feel  as  dislocated 
As  a  traveller  belated, 
And  becudgelled  by  marauders  ; 
Or  be  sent  off  to  an  island, — 
Not  to  Sancho  Panza's  island, — 
To  a  St.  Helena  island, 
Like  the  Emperor  Napoleon 
When  the  English  caught  "  Nap"  napping, 
When  his  Waterloo  they  gave  him, 
With  much  aid  from  Marshal  Blucher, 
And  in  lieu  of  other  water, 
Or  of  wine  for  which  he  thirsted 
When  he'd  drained  the  bitter  goblet 


SONG   OF  THE 


Which  Adversity  presented 
To  those  lips  whose  lightest  word  had 
Hushed  a  continent  to  silence, 
And  made  nations  deferential. 

But  these  people  are  mistaken, 
Whether  men,  or  maids,  or  matrons  ; 
Whether  critics  or  proud  patrons  — 
Who  know  twice  as  much  as  authors  — 
Know  it,  —  in  their  own  opinions, 
Which,  like  faith  when  firmly  held  to, 
May  with  ease  remove  a  mountain, 
Or  transform  a  flimsy  fiction 
Into  a  Gibraltar  castle 
With  impregnable  defences, 
Or  with  such  as  are  pronounced  so; 
Which  has  been  assailed  for  ages  ; 
Which,  for  ages  after  ages, 
Has  repelled  all  its  assailants, 
And,  like  Dunsinane's  famed  castle, 
On  its  hill-top  proudly  standing, 
When  the  "  moving  wood"  approached  it, 
Might,  without  internal  treason, 
To  adopt  the  tyrant's  language, 
Or  to  paraphrase  it  slightly, 
Laugh  at  siege  with  scorn  and  laughter. 

These    good    friends    and    thoughtful 
neighbors, 


ISLE   OF  CUBA. 


They  are  certainly  mistaken 

By  a  premature  conclusion, 

For  our  modest  Eslrangero 

Never  deals  in  angry  tempests, 

Nor  makes  mountains  out  of  mole-hills  ; 

Nor  approves  he  of  obstetrics 

To  relieve  the  groaning  mountains, 

In  their  pains  of  parturition, 

For  the  advent  of  small  white  mice. 

This  mild-mannered  Estrangero 

Speaks  of  sights  he  has  been  seeing, 

Tells  of  thoughts  he  has  been  thinking, 

Which,  like  nuts  with  acrid  kernels, 

Have  some  sanitary  substance 

That  is  either  sweet  or  wholesome  ; 

And,  when  properly  digested, 

Need  not  plead  for  condonation, 

Or  compound  for  toleration. 

And,  if  tasting  sometimes  bitter, 

(That  may  be  —  as  it  is  often  — 

But  a  reflex  of  the  palate, 

From  the  liver  out  of  order,) 

'Twill  relieve  a  wasting  fever, 

As  alterative  undoubted, 

And  with  potent  tonic  virtue. 

Just  like  quinine  from  the  druggists, 

That's  dispensed,  but  not  dispensed  with 


SONG   OF  THE 


For  there  is  no  cure  for  fever 
So  infallible  as  quinine  ; 
And,  for  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to, 
Whether  of  the  mind  or  body, 
There's  no  remedy  discovered 
That's  not  sometimes  so  unpleasant 
As  to  make  a  patient  patient 
Grow  quite  restive  and  impatient. 


But  these  clamorers  for  quiet  ; 
These  good  people,  late  so  gentle, 
Want  respite  from  quarter-sections, 
And  a  rest  from  this  instalment  ; 
And,  indeed,  they  well  have  earned  it 
By  their  patience  under  duress  ; 
By  their  uncomplaining  patience  : 
And  forthwith  they  all  shall  have  it, 
If,  with  glances  sympathetic, 
They'll  shake  hands  with  Estrangero,- 
Bid  "  adieu"  to  Estrangero, 
And  his  song  of  the  Cubanos  ; 
Say  "farewell  !"  but  not  forever, 
To  this  rambling  Estrangero, 
Till  he  comes  again  amongst  them, 


ISLE  OF  CUBA. 

With  new  thoughts  and  their  corrections, 

Which  may  bear  minute  inspections, — 

Some  time  after  the  elections ; 

After  fermentation  ceases, 

In  this  "  land  of  the  hereafter ;" 

In  this  Presidential  year. 


THE   END. 


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